THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 


.  OF  CALIF.  .  LOS  ANGELES 


'IT    IS    A    KACK    AM)    A    FORM     IO    \VUCI1    TJ1K    IIKAKT    AM)     IHh 
WISDOM  Oil   OK  ANY  ONK  " 


The 
Patience   of  John   Morland 

By 

MARY    DILLON 

Author  of  "The  Rose  of  Old  St.  Louis,"  "The  Leader," 
and   "In  Old  Bellaire" 

ILLUSTRATED   BY   C.    M.    RELYEA 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 
1909 


AI.L    RIGHTS    RESERVED,    INCLUDING   THAT    OF   TRANSLATION 
INTO    FOREIGN    LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING    THE   SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY    DOUBLEDAY,    PAGE    *    COMPANY 
PUBLISHED,   JULY,    1909 


TRUE  FRIENDSHIP 

IS   SO   RARE  A  GIFT  OF  THE  GODS 

THAT,   ONCE  GRANTED  TO  A  FORTUNATE  MORTAL, 

IT  SHOULD  BE  CHERISHED  ABOVE 

EVERY  EARTHLY    POSSESSION. 

THIS  STORY  IS  LOVINGLY  DEDICATED 

TO  ONE  WHO  HAS  PROVED  HERSELF, 

FOR  MORE  THAN  THIRTY  YEARS, 

A  LOYAL  FRIEND: 

E.  McM. 


2128968 


FOREWORD 

I  CANNOT  hope  that  even  the  most  superficial  student 
of  American  history  will  not  recognize  my  heroine  at  a 
glance,  despite  her  change  of  name.  I  have  made  this 
change  that,  while  adhering  closely  to  the  truth  in  the 
leading  incidents  of  her  career,  I  may  yet  allow  myself 
a  little  latitude  for  the  play  of  imagination. 

For  the  same  reason  I  have  changed  the  hero's  name.  I 
know  there  will  be  many  to  disagree  with  me  in  my  con 
ception  of  these  two  characters,  but  where  there  have  been 
radical  differences  of  opinion  between  all  the  chroniclers  of 
the  day  and  every  biographer  of  the  two,  I  may,  perhaps,  be 
permitted  a  still  wider  divergence  of  interpretation. 
And  if  the  right  to  such  divergence  be  not  granted  me  on 
this  ground,  then  I  claim  my  privilege  as  a  writer  of 
fiction.  I  have  conscientiously  swerved  not  a  hair's 
breadth  from  the  fact  in  writing  of  any  incident  that  can 
be  claimed  as  history,  but  I  confess  to  having  taken  some 
liberties  with  the  characters  of  these  two,  and  with  their 
intimate  and  personal  experiences,  to  which  history  would 
lay  no  claim  if  it  could,  but  which  are  the  lawful  domain 
of  fiction.  For  which  I  have  great  authority  and  illus 
trious  examples  in  "The  Three  Musqueteers,"  "Lady 
Rose's  Daughter,"  "The  Marriage  of  William  Ashe," 
and  a  long  line  of  equally  glorious  historical  tales. 

MARY  DILLON. 


Vll 


PEOPLE  OF  THE  STORY 

KITTY  McCABE,  the  heroine;  daughter  of  an  Irish  innkeeper,      * 

wilful,  indiscreet,  but  withal  lovable. 
JOHN  MORLAND,  the  hero;  a  youthful  Senator  from  Tennessee,    S 

chivalrous  and  long-suffering. 
TIM  McCABE,  Kitty's  father;  the  pompous  and  coarse-grained     •' 

landlord  of  "McCabe's  Tavern." 

MRS.  McCABE,  Kitty's  mother;  a  gentlewoman  born  and  bred.         ^ 
WILL     SUTHERLAND,     an     impetuous     Virginian;    Lieutenant 

on  the  Argus. 

HAROLD  MONTCLAIR,  coxcomb,  cad,  and  coward.  -  f^  "i^  -  ^  6 

Miss  DAYTON,  a  friend  of  Montclair's  and  of  the  same  stripe. 
JAMES  MONROE,  President  of  the  United  States  in  the  first  part 

of  the  story. 
JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS,  Secretary  of  State  under  Monroe  and 

President  through  part  of  the  story. 
ANDREW  JACKSON,  President  in  the  latter  part  of    the    story, 

and  devoted  champion  of  Kitty. 
HENRY  CLAY,  "The  Great  Pacificator;"  Speaker  of  the  House  -! 

under   Monroe,    Secretary    of    State    under   Adams,    and 

always  a  popular  idol. 
JOHN  C.  CALHOUN,  "The  Nullifier;"  Secretary  of  War  under      S 

Monroe,  and  Vice-President  under  Adams  and  Jackson; 

scholar  and  statesman,  but  a  mistaken  propagator  of  two 

dangerous    doctrines,    whom    Kitty    keeps    out    of    the 

Presidency. 
DANIEL  WEBSTER,  the  greatest  orator  in  Congress  in  that  or  .' 

any  day. 
THOMAS  BENTON,   Senator  and  statesman;  slightly  pompous, 

but  undeniably  great. 


x  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

JOHN  RANDOLPH,  of  Roanoke;  fiery  orator,  master  of  invective, 

bitter  enemy  of  Clay. 
MARTIN  VAN  BUREN,  Senator,  Governor,  Secretary  of  State; 

Burr's    accomplished    pupil,    the    most    skilful    organizer 

in  American  politics,  arch  supporter  of  Kitty,  appointed 

by  Jackson  as  his  successor. 
MR.  VAUGHAN,  Minister  to  the  United  States  from  England; 

a  bachelor,  and  staunch  supporter  of  Kitty. 
BARON  KRUDENER,  Minister  from  Russia;  a  bachelor,  and  one 

of  Kitty's  ardent  champions. 
JAMES  BUCHANAN,  Member  of  Congress  from  Pennsylvania; 

an  accomplished  politician. 
WINFIELD  SCOTT,  a  youthful  general  in  the  army;  strikingly 

big,  handsome,  and  simple  hearted. 
ROBERT  Y.  HAYNE  of  South  Carolina;  eloquent  opponent  and 

warm  admirer  of  Webster. 
V   WILLIAM    WIRT,    illustrious   Attorney-General    of   the    United 

States;  as  handsome  as  gifted. 
ROBERT  E.  LEE,  young  West  Point  cadet. 
MAJOR  LEWIS,  confidential  friend  and  adviser  to  Jackson. 
LETCHER,  of  Kentucky,  a  friend  of  Clay's. 
TAZEWELL,  of  Virginia,  an  acquaintance  of  Montclair's. 
YOUNG  LAIDLEY,  a  boy  friend  of  Kitty's. 
^  MRS.  DECATUR,  widow  of  Commodore  Decatur;  a  leader  in 

Washington  society. 
MRS.  CALHOUN,  first  lady  of  the  land  under  Jackson;  a  lovely 

woman,  devoted  wife  and  mother. 
MRS.   MADISON,  wife  of  ex-President  Madison,  and  always  a 

reigning  favourite  in  Washington. 
RACHEL,  idolized  wife  of  Jackson. 
MRS.  HENRY  CLAY. 
MRS.  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 

MRS.  HUYGENS,  wife  of  the  Minister  from  Holland. 
MR.  and  MRS.  CUSTIS,  of  Arlington. 


JOHN  MORLAND  xi 


Miss  NELLIE  CUSTIS,  of  Arlington. 
JANET,  Kitty's  little  daughter. 
EMMELINE,  Kitty's  black  maid. 
JEFF,  body-servant  to  Senator  Morland. 

PLACE:  Washington. 

TIME:  The  third  decade  of  the  last  century. 


BOOK  I 

KITTY   McCABE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Doom  of  the  Republic          ....         3 

II.  Tall  Harry  of  the  Slashes     .....       15 

III.  Mrs.  Madison  Makes  a  Prophecy         ...       22 

IV.  Barely  in  Time .40 

V.     A  Fatal  Snub .57 

VI.  Mrs.  Adams's  Ball .66 

VII.  For  Whom  Kitty  Was  Waiting    ....       89 

VIII.  Dinah  Is  Faithless 95 

IX.  A  Tell-tale  Word 103 

BOOK  II 

THE    WIDOW    SUTHERLAND 

I.  Trouble  Begins 113 

II.  Morland  Makes  Two  Resolutions         .         .         .128 

III.  Kitty  Confesses    ...  ...     136 

IV.  A  Bolt  from  the  Blue  ...  .150 
V.  On  the  Banks  of  the  Kanawha    .         .         .         .162 

VI.     An  Arrival  in  Washington 169 

VII.     Clay's  Hour 176 

VIII.     Kitty's  Defiance 192 

IX.     The  Flowing  River 204 

X.     On  the  Bluffs  at  Arlington 211 

XI.     Janet's  Prayer      .  234 


xiv     THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XII.     Morland  Buys  a  Horse 243 

XIII.  A  Trifle  Light  as  Air 255 

XIV.  A  Terrible  Provocation 270 

BOOK  III 

MISTRESS    MORLAND 

I.     The  Wooing  of  Kitty 289 

II.     In  the  Woods  at  Bladensburg      ....  306 

III.  At  Monterey 324 

IV.  Baron  Krudener  Offends  Mrs.  Huygens       .         .  345 
V.     The  President  Gives  Kitty  a  Party      .         .         .360 

VI.     The  Dissolution  of  a  Cabinet       ....  372 

VII.     Mrs.  Decatur's  Miniature 386 

VIII.     The  World  Well  Lost  394 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  It  is  a  face  and  a  form  to  witch  the  heart  and 

the  wisdom  out  of  any  one  "       .       .       Frontispiece 


FACING  PACK 


"  Kitty  listened  to  a  formal  declaration  from  the 
ardent  Southerner  more  impassioned  than  she 
had  yet  heard  from  any  youthful  lover  "  .  102 

"  She  touched  Brown  Bess's  sensitive  flank 
smartly  with  her  whip  and  was  off  like  the 
wind" 266 

"  His  face  was  livid         .     .     '  No  one  ever  told 

me  you  were  such  a  dead  shot ' '  .         .       320 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 


BOOK  I 
KITTY  McCABE 


The  Patience  of  John  Morland 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   DOOM    OF   THE    REPUBLIC 

TT  WAS  half  after  four  o'clock  of  a  spring  afternoon, 
•^  and  all  Washington  was  sitting  down  to  dinner. 

It  was  early  spring,  and  through  the  open  windows 
of  McCabe's  Tavern  floated  the  sweet  odours  and 
sounds  belonging  to  a  Maryland  April:  the  noisy  song 
of  orioles  flashing,  flame-like,  through  the  maples  that 
shaded  the  long,  low  building,  the  gentle  chirp  of  the 
chippies,  and  the  monotonous  call  of  a  wood  pewee  mingled 
with  the  fragrance  of  opening  lilac  buds  and  fading  apple 
blossoms. 

Mr.  McCabe  himself  was  receiving  his  guests  as  they 
entered,  singly  or  in  groups,  from  the  Capitol.  He 
was  wearing  an  immaculate  white  apron  that  entirely 
covered  his  coat  and  trousers,  but  he  was  as  genially 
pompous  in  manner  as  if  his  apron  were  the  ensign 
of  royalty.  He  greeted  every  arriving  guest  cordially, 
yet  there  were  shades  of  distinction  in  his  manner:  to 
some  he  merely  nodded  affably,  others  he  addressed  with 
a  cordial  "Howdy"  and  a  flashing  smile,  while  a  few 
he  received  with  stately  deference,  himself  conducting 
them  to  their  seats  at  the  long  table,  covered  with  a 
snowy  cloth,  ready  set  for  serving,  and  surrounded  by  an 
army  of  Negro  waiters  drawn  up  in  motionless  array. 

3 


4  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

It  was  noticeable  that  none  but  men  had  entered  the 
room,  and  most  of  them  were  so-  absorbed  in  some  topic 
they  were  discussing  that  they  had  made  but  perfunctory 
returns  to  McCabe's  greetings.  The  table  was  nearly 
filled  now;  in  fact,  only  two  places  remained  vacant  —  one 
on  either  side  of  the  host's  seat  at  the  end  —  and  the  host 
himself  was  growing  as  nearly  impatient  as  his  care 
fully  cultivated  manner  of  urbane  Boniface  would  per 
mit.  He  was  evidently  waiting  for  some  one,  for  the 
long  hand  of  the  tall  clock  in  the  corner  of  the  room  was 
already  on  the  half  hour,  and  it  was  an  unwritten  law  of 
McCabe's  Tavern  that  it  should  never  cross  that  boun 
dary  line  and  begin  its  ascending  journey  on  the  other 
half  of  the  clock's  face  without  finding  both  host  and 
guest  each  in  his  appointed  place. 

3  The  guests  had  been  filling  the  interval  of  waiting  by 
a  general  and  somewhat  noisy  discussion  of  the  all- 
absorbing  topic  that  had  been  engrossing  the  several 
groups  on  their  entrance;  sometimes  calling  questions  and 
answers  from  one  end  of  the  long  table  to  the  other.  But 
there  was  a  moment  of  silence  as  the  long  hand  rested 
on  the  half,  broken  by  an  imperious  Southerner's  query 
to  his  neighbour: 

"What  are  we  waiting  for?" 

"Don't  you  know ?"  asked  the  other  in  some  surprise. 

The  Southerner  made  no  reply,  for  a  commotion  at 
the  door  answered  his  query.  Two  men  were  entering, 
and  every  eye  was  turned  toward  them,  those  sitting  with 
their  backs  to  the  door  twisting  in  their  chairs  and  stretch 
ing  their  necks  to  see  the  better. 

The  younger  and  handsomer  of  the  two  men  had 
stepped  back  a  little  to  give  precedence  to  the  other. 


JOHN  MORLAND  5 

If  the  spectators  had  not  known  who  was  expected,  or 
recognized  at  once  the  tall  soldierly  figure  whose  face, 
set  in  the  stern  lines  of  one  accustomed  to  command,  was 
crowned  by  a  shock  of  bristling  white  hair,  they  would 
readily  have  perceived  from  Tim  McCabe's  manner 
that  some  one  of  unusual  distinction  had  entered.  Never 
had  his  smile  been  so  deferential,  his  bow  so  ceremonious, 
his  tones  so  suave,  as  he  took  his  visitor's  gray  beaver  hat 
and  said: 

"How  do  you  do,  General?  We  are  honoured  to 
welcome  you  to  Washington  once  more,  sir." 

In  the  moment  of  silence  that  had  accompanied  the 
entrance  of  the  two  men  and  preceded  Tim  McCabe's 
sonorous  greeting,  there  had  been  distinctly  audible, 
uttered  in  harsh  rasping  tones: 

"It  is  an  outrage,  sir!  And  by  the  Eternal  he  shall 
hear  from  it!" 

Every  one  who  heard  the  words  knew  to  what  and  to 
whom  they  referred,  and  no  one  was  astonished  to  note 
that  they  were  accompanied  by  every  symptom  of  strong 
excitement :  the  deep  lines  in  the  stern  face  visibly  deeper, 
the  eyes  from  under  their  beetling  brows  flashing  points 
of  fire,  the  lips  tight  drawn,  and  the  square  jaw  defiantly 
set.  But  at  the  host's  greeting  there  was  a  transforma 
tion  so  sudden  as  to  have  been  easily  bewildering:  the 
furrows  seemed  to  melt  away  from  the  rugged  cheeks, 
leaving  them  smoother  and  younger,  the  straight  line 
of  the  mouth  dissolved  into  genial  curves,  and  the  eyes 
beamed  with  honest  cordiality.  At  that  moment  the 
old  soldier  was  no  longer  a  rough  pioneer  —  he  was  as 
fine  a  specimen  of  the  courtly  gentleman  as  Washington 
had  often  seen. 


G  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Ah,  Mr.  McCabe,  glad  to  see  you  again,  sir,"  he  said 
heartily,  extending  his  hand  as  he  spoke.  "And  how  is 
your  wife  ?  I  hope  I  may  be  permitted  to  pay  my  respects 
to  her." 

"She  is  waiting  to  receive  you,  General.  Will  you 
take  the  General  to  Mrs.  McCabe,  Major  Morland?' 
addressing  the  younger  of  the  two  men  as  he  spoke,  and 
waving  his  hand  toward  an  open  door.  "And  then,  if 
you  will  permit,  General,  I  will  not  keep  my  guests  waiting 
longer.  You  will  find  your  place  ready  for  you  at  my 
right  when  you  return." 

Major  Morland  conducted  the  General  through  the 
open  door  their  host  had  indicated  into  a  little  parlour, 
simply  furnished,  but  with  unusual  evidences  of  taste 
and  refinement  for  a  parlour  in  an  ordinary  inn.  There 
rose  to  meet  them  as  they  entered  a  woman  not  yet 
past  middle  age,  but  wearing  the  cap  and  soft  handker 
chief  of  a  much  older  woman.  She  was  singularly  beauti 
ful  and  graceful,  and  there  was  a  gentleness  and  distinction 
in  her  voice  and  bearing  hardly  to  have  been  looked  for 
in  an  Irish  innkeeper's  wife.  She  met  the  General  with 
a  gracious  sweetness  untinged  with  obsequiousness,  and 
the  General  on  his  part  was  gallantly  cordial  and  com 
plimentary,  with  no  hint  of  familiarity  or  condescension. 

Mrs.  McCabe  would  allow  them  to  stay  but  a 
moment. 

"You  must  go,"  she  said.  "It  would  break  Tim's 
heart  to  have  you  sit  down  to  a  cold  dinner." 

The  General  seemed  in  no  hurry. 

"But  where  is  Kitty?"  he  remonstrated.  "I  haven't 
said  'Howdy'  to  her  yet,  and  I  can't  go  without  kissing 
my  little  sweetheart.  Unless,"  he  added,  as  if  dismayed 


JOHN  MORLAND  7 

by  a  sudden  suggestion,  "she  's  grown  too  big  for 
kisses.  I  had  forgotten  that  it  is  two  years  since  I  have 
seen  her." 

"Oh,  Kitty!"  Mrs.  McCabe  gave  her  head  a  little  toss 
of  half-humorous  vexation.  "  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  find  her 
greatly  spoiled,  General.  She  should  be  at  home  now, 
and  dressed  for  dinner,  but  she  went  off  early  in  the 
afternoon  with  her  girl,  Emmeline,  and  I  've  no  doubt 
she  's  fishing  in  Rock  Creek  and  has  forgotten  all  about 
dinner.  But  there!  you  must  not  stay  a  minute  longer," 
and  the  savoury  odours  from  the  dining-room  having  by 
this  time  penetrated  to  Mrs.  McCabe's  little  parlour, 
added  a  compelling  argument  to  hers,  and  the  General 
and  the  Major  made  their  courteous  adieus. 

The  ten  minutes  the  two  men  had  spent  with  Mrs. 
McCabe  had  been  occupied  in  the  dining-room  by 
a  semi-military  ceremony  of  daily  occurrence.  Tim 
McCabe  had  taken  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
and,  with  every  guest  in  his  seat  and  the  army  of  Negroes 
standing  motionless,  their  eyes  upon  their  master,  he 
gave  a  signal.  With  military  precision  each  Negro 
raised  a  cover  from  the  table,  and  holding  it  before  him 
turned  his  eyes  again  on  his  master.  At  a  second  signal 
the  Negroes  marched  in  perfect  step  to  a  side  table, 
deposited  their  covers,  wheeled,  and  marched  back  to 
their  places;  and  so  in  strictest  drill  the  meal  went 
forward. 

Naturally,  Mr.  McCabe  did  not  like  such  a  ceremonial 
interfered  with,  and  there  was  probably  no  other  American 
citizen  than  the  one  who  now  took  his  seat  at  his  right 
whom  he  would  have  permitted  to  throw  his  table  into 
confusion.  But  the  uproar  of  greetings  did  away  with 


8  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

all  discipline  for  a  time.  Men  rushed  from  their  places 
to  grasp  the  General's  hand,  and  for  ten  minutes  bedlam 
reigned.  Then  order  was  restored  and  the  meal  went 
decorously  forward. 

When  conversation  was  once  more  becoming  general, 
one  of  those  maladroit  men  to  be  found  in  every  company, 
wishing  possibly  to  show  himself  at  ease  in  the  presence 
of  the  great  man,  piped  up  from  the  lower  end  of  the 
table,  with  a  clumsy  attempt  at  facetiousness : 

"General,  you  are  a  little  too  late;  you  should  have 
been  at  the  Capitol  this  morning  in  time  to  hear  Clay 
score  you  on  your  conduct  of  the  Seminole  War." 

The  table  was  aghast. 

"Fools  rush  in "  muttered  the  imperious  Southerner, 

and  noting  the  flash  of  the  General's  eye  he  hastened  to 
avert  the  impending  storm. 

"I  could  wish  you  had  been  in  time,  General,"  he  said 
soothingly,  "to  have  heard  your  friends  in  your  defence." 

But  it  was  an  unlucky  word. 

"Defence,  sir,  I  need  no  defence!"  the  General  fairly 
roared,  for  his  ire  was  fast  rising. 

The  Southerner  hastened  to  interpose: 

"You  are  right!  I  inadvertently  used  the  wrong 
expression.  I  wish  you  might  have  heard  the  commen 
dations  and  eulogies  of  your  friends  upon  your  masterly 
and  unquestionable  line  of  action  in  that  emergency." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Calhoun,"  said  the  irate  General, 
easily  placated,  "and  I  hope  the  eloquent  Secretary  of 
\Var,  whose  word  carries  more  weight  than  any  other 
man's  in  the  South,  was  one  of  the  friends  whom  I  greatly 
regret  not  hearing." 

"Without  doubt,  sir,  without  doubt.      I  could  not  be 


JOHN  MORLAND  9 

silent  in  such  a  cause,"  responded  Calhoun  earnestly, 
his  pallid  face  showing  a  tinge  of  colour  and  his  keen, 
unresting  eyes  glowing  with  pleasure  under  the  stately 
compliment  of  the  old  soldier. 

He  was  entirely  honest.  He  had  been  greatly  incensed 
at  Clay's  speech  of  censure,  though  possibly  his  bitterness 
was  as  much  due  to  his  political  hatred  of  Clay  as  to  his 
admiration  of  Jackson.  For  the  moment  he  had  for 
gotten  that  only  a  few  weeks  before  he  had  himself,  in 
Cabinet  session,  proposed  a  measure  of  censure  on 
Jackson's  conduct  of  that  same  Seminole  War.  It  was 
the  policy  of  the  administration,  however,  to  avoid  arous 
ing  the  antagonism  of  the  people  by  any  strictures  on 
their  idol,  and  his  suggestion  had  been  vetoed.  It  only 
irritated  him  the  more,  therefore,  that  Clay  —  openly  in 
opposition  to  the  administration  on  every  possible  point  — 
should  be  making  capital  against  the  administration  by 
the  very  weapon  he  had  himself  proposed  using;  and 
in  his  irritation  he  forgot  for  the  moment  that  he,  least 
of  all,  had  a  right  to  be  either  vexed  with  Clay  or 
pleased  at  Jackson's  commendations  of  himself. 

The  little  incident,  mal  apropos  as  it  seemed,  had  yet 
served  its  purpose.  Every  tongue  was  loosed,  and  the 
topic  which  had  been  engrossing  all  thoughts  but  which 
courtesy  to  the  great  General  had  prohibited  all  but  the 
maladroit  from  introducing,  now  became  the  sole  topic 
of  the  table.  There  could  be  but  one  opinion  in  that  com 
pany.  Clay  was  almost  at  the  height  of  his  popularity, 
but  not  even  he  could  be  forgiven  for  criticizing  the 
country's  idol,  "Old  Hickory."  Wine  was  called  for 
from  the  bar  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  big  room,  and 
toast  after  toast  was  drunk  to  the  hero  of  New  Orleans, 


10  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

while  Tim  McCabe  sent  a  boy  with  his  own  private  bottle 
of  fine  old  Madeira  to  fill  Mr.  Calhoun's  glass  in  token  of 
his  approbation  of  Mr.  Calhoun's  sentiments. 

The  wines  were  good  ,  the  dinner  was  abundant 
and  deliciously  cooked,  and  their  topic  was  an  exciting 
one;  they  lingered  long  at  the  table  and  the  level  rays 
of  the  rapidly  sinking  sun  were  striking  across  the  room 
from  the  western  windows  before  the  company  began  to 
break  up. 

Calhoun  and  Jackson  and  Morland  still  lingered. 
Calhoun  had  gotten  away  from  Clay's  speech,  and  was 
expounding  to  Jackson  his  views  of  the  tariff,  which 
did  not  entirely  agree  with  Jackson's,  but  in  which  he 
was  greatly  interested.  Calhoun  had  hopes  of  convinc 
ing  him,  and  was  deeply  absorbed  in  his  own  line  of 
reasoning,  his  pale,  scholarly  face,  coal-black  hair,  and 
intense  eyes  lighted  up  weirdly  by  the  western  sun.  He 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  close  argument,  with  an  extended 
forefinger  laying  down  each  carefully  considered  point, 
when  he  was  rudely  interrupted.  The  door  was  flung  open 
and  a  girl  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  rushed  in,  followed  slowly 
and  hesitatingly  by  a  young  negress  a  year  or  two  older. 

"Where  is  General  Jackson?  I  want  to  see  him!" 
the  girl  called  in  a  high,  musical  voice  as  she  stopped  a 
moment  just  inside  the  door.  Then,  catching  a  glimpse 
of  the  General,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  ran 
forward,  both  arms  outstretched,  and  flung  herself  on 
the  old  soldier's  neck. 

The  General  was  embarrassed.  He  returned  the 
caress,  of  course,  but  this  tall  slip  of  a  girl  was  not  the  little 
Kitty  of  his  remembrance  whom  he  had  held  upon  his 
knee  and  kissed  and  teased  at  his  pleasure. 


JOHN  MORLAND  11 

"Hoity-toity,  what  have  we  here!"  he  exclaimed,  as 
he  gently  tried  to  disengage  the  clinging  arms.  "This 
is  n't  my  Kitty.  My  Kitty  was  a  little  girl  and  not  a 
beautiful  young  lady." 

But  not  until  her  father  spoke  did  Kitty  relax  her 
clasp.  He  had  been  too  much  shocked  for  a  moment 
to  find  his  voice.  It  was  not  at  the  freedom  of  Kitty's 
manners,  however,  that  he  was  shocked  —  she  was  still,  to 
her  father,  but  a  child  —  but  that  she  should  appear  in  such 
a  presence  in  such  array !  'Her  chestnut  curls  were  tum 
bling  all  over  her  head  in  picturesque  but  untidy  confusion, 
her  hands  and  her  face  were  far  from  clean,  and  her 
short  print  gown  was  torn  and  drabbled.  But,  most 
horrible  of  all,  she  was  barefooted,  and  her  little  feet, 
slender  and  daintily  arched,  were  muddy!  That  a  child 
of  Tim  McCabe,  the  immaculate,  should  so  disgrace  him, 
and  that  Kitty,  of  whose  beauty  he  was  as  vain  as  a 
peacock,  should  appear  before  such  company  not  suitably 
adorned,  was  more  than  he  could  stand.  He  spoke  sternly, 
in  tones  of  authority  to  which  his  spoiled  daughter  was 
little  accustomed: 

"Kitty!  Go  to  your  room  at  once!  And  never  let  me 
know  of  your  presenting  yourself  in  the  dining-room  again 
in  such  a  plight." 

And  then,  still  more  harshly  to  the  Negress: 

"Emmeline,  what  do  you  mean  by  allowing  your 
mistress  to  get  into  such  a  condition  and  permitting  her 
to  come  in  here  to  make  a  spectacle  of  herself!  Go  dress 
your  mistress,  and  then  report  to  Mr.  Jenkins." 

Since  Tim  McCabe  owned  no  plantation,  Mr.  Jenkins 
could  hardly  be  called  an  overseer,  but  he  was  a  factotum 
whose  numerous  duties  included  the  one  of  seeing  that 


12  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

the  Negro  servants  were  properly  disciplined.  Emmeline 
knew  what  being  ordered  to  report  to  him  meant,  and 
she  began  to  whimper: 

"  I  coulden'  help  it,  Mars  Tim,  'deed  I  coulden'.  I  tried 
to  keep  Miss  Kate  from  comin'  in  hyer,  but  she  jes  would 
come."  Ard  then,  bursting  into  terrified  sobs: 

"Please  Marse  Tim,  don'  have  Emmeline  whipped!" 

Tim  McCabe  was  not  a  hard  master,  and  he  might  have 
condoned  a  slight  offence  to  Emmeline's  pathetic  pleading, 
but  this  seemed  to  him  no  slight  offence,  and  he  was 
in  the  act  of  ordering  her  at  once  to  Mr.  Jenkins  when  he 
was  stopped  by  Kitty. 

At  her  father's  first  words  her  arms  had  slipped  from 
the  General's  neck  and  her  eyes  dropped  abashed  — 
until  then  she  had  not  once  thought  of  her  appearance. 
But  at  his  threat  to  Emmeline  she  lifted  her  head.  Her 
eyes  were  a  warm  Irish  gray  with  long,  black,  curling 
lashes,  and  usually  they  were  dancing  with  glee.  Now  they 
were  cold  as  steel  with  sparks  of  fire  flashing  from  them 
as  if  the  steel  had  struck  flint. 

"Father!"  she  said,  and  Tim  McCabe  visibly  quailed 
at  the  sound  of  her  icy  voice,  "you  cannot  have  Emmeline 
whipped;  she  belongs  to  me.  And  if  Mr.  Jenkins  dares 
to  touch  her  I  will  horsewhip  him  myself  in  front  of  the 
Capitol!" 

Tim  McCabe  stood  in  such  awe  of  his  daughter 
when,  as  rarely  happened,  she  displayed  her  towering 
temper,  that  he  had  no  doubt  she  would  find  some 
means  of  carrying  out  her  threat,  and  he  hastened 
to  retract. 

"Emmeline,"  he  said,  with  what  dignity  he  could 
command,  "your  young  mistress  intercedes  for  you; 


JOHN  MORLAND  13 

you  will  not  be  whipped  this  time,  but  see  hereafter  that 
you  take  better  care  of  your  charge." 

"Come,  Emmeline,"  said  Kitty,  seizing  the  girl's  hand 
and  beginning  hastily  to  drag  her  away.  Her  heroic 
mood,  now  that  there  was  no  longer  any  need  for  it,  was 
fast  giving  way  to  embarrassment,  with  waves  of  colour 
putting  out  the  fire  in  her  eyes  and  drenching  the  lovely 
Irish  roses  and  lilies  that  bloomed  in  her  cheeks.  But 
Morland  put  out  a  hand  and  stopped  her  as  she  passed 
him. 

"Kitty,"  he  whispered,  "you  were  quite  right  to  save 
Emmeline  that  whipping,  and  I  was  proud  of  you.  But 
it  was  your  fault,  you  know,  and  try  not  to  get  her  into 
trouble  again." 

He  patted  her  hand  as  he  spoke,  as  he  would  have 
patted  the  hand  of  any  child  to  whom  he  wished  to  show 
approbation.  Kitty  did  not  know  whether  to  be  pleased 
or  angry.  She  stopped  a  moment,  her  colour  coming 
and  going  and  one  bare  foot  twisting  itself  nervously 
around  the  other.  Then,  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  It  is  none  of  your  business,  sir  ! "  she 
seized  Emmeline's  hand  again  and  the  two  hurried  away. 

Mr.  Calhoun  had  not  liked  having  his  argument 
interrupted.  Through  the  little  scene  he  had  main 
tained  a  sardonic  smile.  Now,  as  the  two  girls  passed 
through  the  open  doorway  into  Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour, 
he  said  brusquely: 

"You  will  ruin  that  girl,  McCabe!  You  never  ought 
to  let  her  come  into  this  dining-room  where  all  the  men 
pet  her  and  flatter  her  and  turn  her  silly  little  head.  The 
way  she  twists  you  around  her  little  finger  shows  she  's 
already  a  spoiled  child!" 


14      THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

"Not  at  all  spoiled,  sir!  She  is  a  very  sweet  and  lovely 
child,"  interrupted  General  Jackson  hotly. 

"And  with  the  making  of  a  noble  woman,"  added 
Morland  earnestly. 

It  was  a  prophetic  scene.  Just  the  attitude  the  three 
men  had  taken  in  it  was  to  be  their  attitude  through  the 
years  of  struggle  that  lay  before  the  little  Kitty  when, 
according  to  the  historians,  she  was  to  be  the  original 
cause  of  all  the  weal  or  woe  that  should  befall  the  country 
in  the  next  fifty  years.  To  her  they  attributed  the  revo 
lution  of  the  Constitution,  the  centralization  and  consoli 
dation  of  the  Government,  the  abolition  of  slavery,  and 
the  precipitation  of  the  land  into  the  dreadful  throes  of 
civil  war.  No  wonder  that  her  biographers  of  the  last 
century  gloomily  entitled  her  "The  Doom  of  the 
Republic"! 


CHAPTER  II 

TALL  HARRY  OF  THE  SLASHES 

GENERAL  JACKSON  and  Major  Morland  had 
gone  for  a  walk  through  the  spring  twilight  up 
the  long  and  straggling  avenue  to  the  White  House,  a 
mile  away.  General  Jackson  thought  it  his  duty  to  pay 
his  respects  to  President  and  Mrs.  Monroe  immediately 
upon  his  arrival,  and  with  him  to  think  of  a  duty  was  to 
perform  it. 

They  could  hardly  have  gotten  well  down  from  Capitol 
Hill  when  a  man  presented  himself  at  McCabe's  inquiring 
for  General  Jackson.  It  was  plainly  discernible  from 
Tim  McCabe's  greeting  that  this,  too,  was  a  man  of 
distinction.  He  was  taller  than  Jackson;  indeed,  among 
a  race  of  men  over  the  average  in  height  he  was  noticeably 
tall.  His  face  was  not  so  strongly  lined  as  the  old  General's, 
and  only  a  pair  of  wonderful  eyes  redeemed  it  from  being 
almost  commonplace,  while  his  manner  of  returning 
McCabe's  greeting  was  a  fine  blending  of  good-natured 
condescension  and  native  dignity. 

"Not  at  home!"  He  scowled  quickly,  with  no 
attempt  at  concealing  his  impatience  as  he  repeated 
McCabe's  words,  but  the  scowl  cleared  away  in  a 
moment,  and  the  smile  that  followed  wonderfully 
illuminated  the  plain  face  and  gave  a  clue  to  the  man's 
power  with  men. 

"Oh,  well,  it  does  n't  matter,  I  reckon,"  he  added,  "it 's 

15 


16  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

all  in  a  lifetime.  Perhaps  it  will  do  as  well  if  I  talk  to 
your  wife.  Can  I  see  her,  Tim?" 

In  his  soul  he  knew  it  did  matter,  though  he  could 
hardly  have  foreseen  how  much.  A  few  minutes  later 
he  was  saying  to  Mrs.  McCabe : 

"You  must  make  my  peace  with  him,  madam.  You 
can  do  more  with  the  old  bear  than  anyone  I  know.  Tell 
him  that  my  speech  was  entirely  impersonal  —  criticizing 
the  conduct  of  public  affairs  —  but  that  for  him 
individually  I  have  now,  as  always,  only  the  highest 
regard." 

Mrs.  McCabe  shook  her  head  discouragingly. 

"I  am  afraid  nothing  either  of  us  could  say  will  do 
any  good,  Harry.  Pie  is  a  vindictive  'old  bear,'  if  that 
is  what  you  are  of  a  mind  to  call  him,  though,  also,  he  is 
a  very  dear  and  lovable  one  if  you  will  only  stroke  his 
fur  the  right  way.  You  know  the  Seminole  War  is  a  very 
tender  point  with  him  —  did  you  have  to  make  that 
speech,  Harry?  Why  couldn't  you  have  let  it  alone?" 

"I  am  inexpressibly  shocked,"  Clay  began  gaily,  "to 
find  my  dear  'Mother  McCabe'  counselling  such  a  pusil 
lanimous  course.  I  should  rather  have  expected  to  hear 
her  say,  'If  duty  calls,  respond  to  her  summons  fearless 
of  consequence!' ' 

And  then,  with  a  quick  change  to  the  dry  drollery  of 
manner  natural  to  him: 

"Besides,  dear  madam,  you  have  lived  long  enough  in 
Washington  to  know  that  a  politician  must  have  some 
grievances  to  air  if  he  would  keep  himself  before  the  people. 
How  else  could  he  maintain  his  reputation  as  a 
statesman ! " 

But  Mrs.  McCabe  was  not  in  a  mood  to  respond  to 


JOHN  MORLAND  17 

his  raillery.  It  seemed  to  her  too  serious  a  matter  for 
trifling,  and  she  shook  her  head  once  more. 

"You  say  that  last  because  you  think  I  will  not  believe 
it,  Harry,  but  there  is  more  truth  in  it  than  you  would  care 
to  own.  I  have  lived  long  enough  in  Washington  to  know 
that  politicians  are  always  seeking  an  issue  of  some  kind 
out  of  which  they  may  make  political  capital,  and  I  have 
lived  here  long  enough  to  see  their  little  ships  of  state  go 
down  one  after  another,  foundering  on  the  very  rocks  they 
have  themselves  planted  in  the  roadstead  for  the  obstruc 
tion  of  their  enemies." 

Clay's  air  of  gay  flippancy  dropped  from  him  like  a 
garment;  he  was  serious  enough  now,  and  his  voice  took 
on  that  rare  musical  quality  to  whose  persuasive  power  no 
listener  could  be  deaf. 

"Ah,  Mother  McCabe,"  he  said  wistfully,  "who 
made  you  such  a  seer  ?  You  have  probed  me  to  the  quick 
and  pierced  the  sham  that  I  was  trying  to  make  myself 
believe  was  earnest.  It  comes  to  be  second  nature  to  us 
politicians  always  to  be  hunting  up  some  weapon  with 
which  to  fight  either  for  or  against  the  Administration. 
People  accuse  me  of  being  just  now  in  opposition,  all 
because  Adams  was  made  Secretary  of  State  instead  of 
me.  I  wonder  if  the  people  are  right  ?  I  wonder  if  they 
know  me  better  than  I  know  myself?  You  have  been 
my  steadfast  friend,  counsellor,  and  mentor  ever  since 
my  earliest  Washington  days,  when  I  used  to  make  my 
home  with  you,  and  you  often  scolded  me  well  for  my 
wild  ways.  You  know  me  better  than  any  one  in  Wash 
ington  knows  me.  Do  you  believe  that  I  am  actuated  by 
spite  in  my  course  in  the  House,  just  because  I  was  not 
offered  the  portfolio  of  State?" 


18  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Mrs.  McCabe  was  a  very  remarkable  woman  —  the 
attitude  of  a  man  of  Clay's  calibre  toward  her  proved 
that,  and  Clay  was  not  the  only  one.  Just  as  truly  as 
Madam  Recamier  and  Madame  de  Stael  held  their 
salons  in  Paris  did  this  beautiful  wife  of  an  Irish 
innkeeper  hold  her  salon  in  the  little  parlour  opening 
out  of  the  dining-hall  of  McCabe's  Tavern.  Statesmen 
of  both  parties,  Federalists  and  Republicans  —  or  Demo 
crats,  as  they  were  interchangeably  called  —  sought  her 
to  talk  over  with  her  the  events  of  the  hour;  either  to 
be  confirmed  in  their  own  point  of  view  or  to  gain  a  new 
light  on  it  from  her  clearer  spiritual  insight.  Every  man 
implicitly  trusted  her,  and  perhaps  more  state  secrets 
were  confided  to  her  by  members  of  both  parties  than  to 
any  woman  who  has  ever  reigned  in  Washington  court 
circles  —  always  excepting  the  peerless  Dolly  Madison. 
It  may  have  been  that  with  her,  as  with  Clay,  a  wonderful 
voice,  attuned  to  express  musically  every  emotion  of  the 
heart,  was  the  power  that  moved  men  to  confide  in  her 
and  seek  her  advice;  but  it  was  also  a  rare  endowment 
of  mental  breadth  and  keenness,  with  a  clearness  and 
spiritual  purity  of  vision,  that  made  the  advice  worth 
seeking. 

McCabe's  was  a  favourite  boarding-place  for  the 
faster  set  —  men  who  had  left  their  wives  at  home,  partly 
because*  there  was  no  suitable  place  in  Washington  to 
which  to  bring  them  and  partly  because  they  could  not 
afford  to  bring  them,  since  many  of  the  Congressmen  of 
that  early  day  had  no  private  fortunes  and  were  entirely 
dependent  upon  the  ridiculously  small  stipend  the  country 
allowed  them.  But  in  that  fast  set  were  to  be  found  some 
of  the  most  brilliant  minds  of  the  country,  and  Harry  Clay, 


JOHN  MORLAND  19 

the  most  brilliant  of  them  all,  had  been  their  recognized 
leader  as  he  came  up  year  after  year  from  Kentucky  to 
make  his  home  with  the  congenial  set  at  McCabe's. 

He  no  longer  made  his  home  there.  Perhaps,  since 
his  experience  as  Peace  Commissioner  at  Ghent  and  his 
familiarity  with  the  salons  of  Paris  and  the  drawing-rooms 
of  London,  he  preferred  a  more  dignified  manner  of 
living;  or  perhaps  he  thought  his  Presidential  aspirations 
demanded  it.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  now  brought  Mrs. 
Clay  with  him  to  Washington,  and  had  found  quarters 
for  them  both  at  a  boarding-house  not  so  exclusively  for 
men  as  McCabe's.  But  he  had  not  in  the  least  altered 
in  his  friendliness  for  Mrs.  McCabe.  He  still  sought 
her  frequently  when  he  thought  he  needed  the  stimulus, 
either  moral  or  intellectual,  she  was  sure  to  give  him. 

Now,  as  Mrs.  McCabe  answered  his  last  speech,  there 
was  a  little  tremor  in  her  soft  voice  and  a  wistfulness 
in  her  sweet  blue  eyes.  This  brilliant  statesman  would 
always  be  just  "one  of  her  boys"  to  her. 

"Ah,  Harry,  Harry,"  she  said,  "I  am  afraid  the  people 
are  not  entirely  wrong.  And  it 's  not  quite  worthy  of 
you,  you  know,  and  not  at  all  wise.  Of  course,  making 
Adams  Secretary  of  State  put  him  in  the  line  of  succession 
but  all  the  more  should  you  keep  on  friendly  terms  with 
him.  For  if  he  is  to  be  the  next  President,  then  who  is  so 
obviously  his  Secretary  of  State  —  unless  you  antagonize 
him  —  as  yourself  ?  And  there  you  are  —  in  the  direct 
line  —  heir-presumptive !  But  whatever  you  do  to  the 
Administration,  I  wish  you  would  let  'Old  Hickory'  alone; 
for  in  fighting  against  him  you  antagonize  a  greater  than 
the  Administration ;  you  antagonize  the  people !  The  Semi- 
nole  War  is  over,  and  no  one  doubts  that  General  Jackson 


20  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

acted  as  he  believed  to  be  right,  and  his  mistakes,  if  he 
made  any,  were  of  the  head  and  not  of  the  heart.  Much 
should  be  forgiven  to  the  old  chief  who  won  us  such  laurels 
at  New  Orleans,  and  any  strictures  of  his  conduct  come 
with  a  peculiarly  ill  grace  from  a  framer  of  the  Treaty  of 
Ghent!  Without  the  victory  of  New  Orleans  that  treaty 
would  have  been  very  ill  received  at  home  and  would  have 
put  the  country  in  a  very  unenviable  position  abroad." 

Clay  listened  to  this  long  speech  with  varying 
emotions  mirroring  themselves  in  his  expressive  eyes. 
At  first  there  had  been  a  little  blue  spark  of  anger  that 
quickly  paled  to  apprehension  as  he  recognized  the 
unwisdom  of  his  course  so  clearly  put  to  him;  but  at  the 
last  there  was  a  generous  glow  of  admiration  as  he  recalled 
how  his  heart  had  swelled  with  patriotic  pride  at  the 
glorious  news  of  the  victory  of  New  Orleans  —  the  news 
that  alone  had  reconciled  him  to  the  Treaty  of  Ghent  he 
had  been  so  unwilling  to  sign,  and  had  sent  him  with  a 
good  heart  from  Paris  to  London  to  meet  the  commission 
and  decide  on  the  commercial  terms  of  the  treaty.  He 
could  meet  the  haughty  Briton  with  a  hauteur  as  great 
since  that  glorious  news,  and  the  remembrance  of  the 
load  that  rolled  from  his  heart  when  he  heard  it  sent  a 
warm  glow  through  him  now. 

"Well,"  he  said  gaily,  "you,  no  doubt,  know  that  they 
downed  my  resolution,  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  sixty- 
nine,  and  I  believe  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  certainly  owe  the 
old  General  a  debt  of  gratitude  if  any  one  does.  But 
the  trouble  is,  I  could  never  make  him  understand  my 
feeling  toward  him,  and  I  rely  upon  you  to  do  it  for  me. 
He  is  like  the  rest  of  us  —  he  will  listen  to  you  when  he  will 
listen  to  no  one  else." 


JOHN  MORLAND  21 

He  was  on  his  feet,  ready  to  take  his  leave,  and  with  a 
courtliness  and  grace  natural  to  him,  and  that  well  became 
him,  he  bent  low  over  Mrs.  McCabe's  hand. 

"  'In  thy  orisons  be  all  my  sins  remembered,'  fair 
lady,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  real  earnestness;  and  then, 
as  he  lifted  his  head,  with  the  dash  and  sparkle  that 
endeared  him  to  so  many  hearts,  he  added: 

"I  'm  not  sure  I  '11  mind  you  about  letting  the  Adminis 
tration  alone.  I  must  have  my  fun,  you  know,  and  old 
Adams  is  a  stick!  By  the  way,  I'm  due  for  a  game  at 
Poindexter's  —  just  add  a  little  postscript  to  your  orisons 
that  I  may  win  —  I  'm  terribly  hard  up!" 

He  went  off  laughing,  leaving  Mrs.  McCabe  to  smile 
and  sigh,  half  amused  and  half  mournful,  as  she  recalled 
the  sins  and  the  graces  of  "Tall  Harry  of  the  Slashes." 


CHAPTER  III 

MRS.  MADISON  MAKES  A  PROPHECY 

MRS.  McCABE  did  not  see  Jackson  until  the  next 
day,  and  then  it  was  as  she  had  feared:  nothing 
that  she  could  say  made  any  impression  on  the  irate 
General.  Indeed,  the  fact  that  Clay  had  called  seemed 
but  to  infuriate  him  the  more.  • 

"The  insolent  puppy!  How  dared  he  call  on  me!" 
he  exclaimed.  "No,  madam,  I  shall  not  return  his  call, 
and  he  will  find  that  it  was  a  bad  day's  work  for  him  when 
he  made  that  speech  in  the  House!" 

Mrs.  McCabe  did  her  best,  but  for  once  her  wiles  were 
powerless,  and  she  finally  gave  it  up  with  a  sigh  for  Clay. 
Either  her  naturally  clear  judgment  or  her  woman's 
intuition  assured  her  that  it  had  indeed  been  a  bad  busi 
ness  for  Clay,  and  her  heart  was  very  tender  toward  the 
brilliant  Kentuckian. 

But  she  had  other  cares  engrossing  her  besides  the 
political  ones  of  her  friends.  Kitty's  dancing  school  was 
to  give  its  closing  exhibition  at  Brown's  Hotel  in  George 
town,  and  Mrs.  Madison,  up  from  Montpelier  for  a  little 
visit,  was  to  crown  the  prettiest  girl  and  the  best  dancer. 
Mrs.  McCabe  wras  as  proud  of  her  pretty  and  graceful 
daughter  as  any  fond  mother  could  be ;  questions  of  State 
might  interest  her  leisure  hours,  but  the  real  business 
of  life  for  her  was  Kitty. 

And  a  very  absorbing  and  very  anxious  but,  taking  it 

22 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND      23 

altogether,  a  very  delightful  business  she  found  it.  Now 
for  days  her  occupation  had  been  Kitty's  dress  for  the 
occasion,  which  Mrs.  McCabe  had  made  almost  entirely 
herself.  It  was  a  copy  of  one  worn  by  one  of  the  Phila 
delphia  Miss  Chews  visiting  the  Masons  at  their  home  on 
Analostan  Island.  Mrs.  McCabe  was  not  always  invited 
to  the  great  Washington  parties,  but  sometimes  she  was, 
and  at  this  one  her  quick  eye  had  taken  in  every  detail 
of  Ann  Chew's  pretty  dress  with  the  mental  determina 
tion  that  Kitty's  first  party  dress  should  be  an  exact  copy 
of  it. 

There  is  a  picture  extant  of  Kitty  at  this  age,  by  Mai- 
bone,  it  is  claimed,  though  of  that  I  am  not  quite  sure.  I 
think  it  is  far  more  likely  to  have  been  by  Charles  King, 
who  was  a  resident  of  Washington  at  the  time,  and 
greatly  in  demand  as  a  painter  of  portraits  by  day  and  a 
delightful  dinner  or  ball  guest  in  the  evening.  The 
description  left  us  of  Ann  Chew's  historic  dress  is  of  a 
simple  book-muslin  frock,  the  full  infant  waist  ending 
just  under  the  arms,  and  the  scanty  skirt  trimmed  round 
with  three  rows  of  bobbinet  gathered  through  the  middle, 
and  short  enough  to  show  the  trim  ankles  in  thin  white 
silk  stockings  crossed  by  rose  ribbon  lacings  that  fastened 
on  the  little  high-heeled  slippers. 

In  just  such  a  dress  does  the  artist  paint  the  budding 
Kitty,  the  short  sleeves  and  infinitesimal  waist  displaying 
the  dimpled  arms  and  slender,  graceful  neck  with  its  youth 
ful  curves,  so  appealing  and  in  such  contrast  to  the  maturer 
charms  of  her  later  pictures.  Her  chestnut  curls  are 
caught  up,  one  might  think  for  the  first  time,  so  youth 
ful  is  the  face,  by  a  high  tortoise-shell  comb  showing  the 
dainty  poise  of  the  head ;  the  roguish  eyes,  fringed  with 


24  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

their  saucy,  curling  lashes,  are  brimming  with  laughter, 
while  the  curves  of  the  beautiful  mouth  struggle  to  look 
demure.  It  is  a  face  and  a  form  to  witch  the  heart  and 
the  wisdom  out  of  any  one;  and  wise  as  Mrs.  McCabe 
was  for  others,  she  was  not  always  wise  for  Kitty,  else 
would  she  not  have  dressed  up  the  child  at  that  tender  age 
in  the  fashion  of  a  full-fledged  belle. 

In  just  such  a  dress  did  Kitty,  at  five  o'clock  of  the 
afternoon  that  followed  her  dishevelled  entrance  into  the 
dining-hall,  waltz  gaily  into  the  same  hall,  curtseying  and 
practising  her  steps,  and  greeted  with  admiring  shouts 
from  the  long  table. 

It  is  strange  that  Mrs.  McCabe  should  have  per 
mitted  her  fifteen-year-old  daughter  to  come  into  this 
roomful  of  men  displaying  all  the  airs  and  graces  of 
an  opera  dancer,  but  perhaps  she  was  powerless  to 
prevent  her,  for  Kitty  was  sometimes  more  than  her 
gentle  mother  could  manage.  Or,  what  is  quite  as  likely, 
her  mother's  vanity  may  have  betrayed  her  judgment  — 
she  could  not  quite  deny  herself  the  gratification  of 
seeing  others  admire  what  was  to  her  the  most  beautiful 
thing  on  earth.  Yet,  as  the  admiration  began  to  take  the 
form  of  loud  compliment  and  comment,  some  of  it  was 
too  coarse  to  suit  Mrs.  McCabe's  sensitive  ears,  and 
brought  her  to  her  senses  with  a  shock.  It  did  not  dis 
turb  Kitty's  father:  Tim  McCabe  was  frankly  vain  of  his 
child  and  good-naturedly  obtuse  as  long  as  the  comments 
bestowed  were  sufficiently  complimentary.  Neither  was 
the  old  General  disturbed :  his  was  the  innocent  heart  of  a 
child,  and  he  was  as  pleased  as  Tim  at  the  admiration 
his  pretty  pet  excited.  Mr.  Calhoun  glanced  at  her  and 
then  glanced  quickly  away.  It  offended  his  ideas  of 


JOHN  MORLAND  25 

propriety  to  see  a  young  girl  so  free  among  so  many  men ; 
but  he  had  expressed  himself  once  to  McCabe  —  he 
would  not  trouble  himself  again. 

Only  Morland  showed  his  displeasure.  If  her  father 
had  not  been  present  he  would  have  taken  it  upon 
himself  to  send  Kitty  from  the  room.  He  had  been  so 
intimately  a  member  of  the  family  that  he  felt  himself 
privileged  in  many  ways,  and  he  was  very  sensitive  where 
Kitty  was  concerned.  He  was  just  about  deciding  that, 
Tim  McCabe  or  not,  he  would  have  to  put  an  end 
to  it,  for  Kitty,  growing  more  excited,  as  she  danced, 
at  the  applause  and  praise  showered  upon  her,  was 
now  beginning  to  return  some  of  the  speeches  of  the 
men  with  shrill-voiced  repartee.  Her  wit  was  not  of 
the  most  brilliant  order  at  that  age,  but  perhaps  it 
was  all  that  could  be  expected  of  a  child,  and  harmless 
enough  if  one  were  a  trifle  thick-skinned  as  to  the  grace 
of  modesty. 

"Kitty,"  called  from  the  lower  end  of  the  table  the  same 
loud-voiced  man  who  had  made  the  maladroit  speech 
to  General  Jackson  on  the  day  before,  "will  you  dance 
with  me  at  the  President's  levee  to-morrow  night?  I 
think  we  'd  make  a  fine-looking  couple,  and  all  the  dandies 
in  town  would  be  envying  me." 

Kitty  stayed  her  steps  and  flung  him  a  retort  over  her 
shoulder: 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  saucily,  "but  if  your  dancing 
equals  your  assurance  I  would  have  all  the  belles  envying 
me  and  that  would  be  too  much  honour." 

Her  childish  sally  was  greeted  with  roars  of  laughter 
from  some  of  the  men,  who  cared  less  for  Kitty  than  for 
their  own  amusement,  but  Morland  frowned  heavily 


26  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

and  would  have  intervened  but  Mrs.  McCabe  spared  him 
the  necessity. 

It  was  seldom  indeed  that  Mrs.  McCabe  appeared  in 
that  dining-room.  Some  of  the  men  at  the  table  had  never 
seen  her,  and  they  were  all  struck  dumb  when  they  sud 
denly  saw  her  standing  in  the  door  of  her  parlour  looking 
more  than  usually  lovely,  radiant  as  a  queen  in  her  dress 
of  pearl-gray  satin,  her  beautiful  arms  and  neck  bare,  for 
she  too  was  dressed  for  the  party  at  Brown's.  But  beautiful 
as  she  looked,  she  was  also  looking  very  stern,  and  her 
sweet  blue  eyes  were  flashing  in  a  way  to  strike  awe  to  the 
heart  of  every  beholder. 

"Kitty!"  she  called  imperatively. 

Kitty  was  in  the  very  act  of  curtseying,  ready  no  doubt  to 
begin  her  dance  again.  She  drew  herself  up  at  the  sound 
of  the  voice  with  its  ring  of  command,  and  stood  looking 
at  her  mother,  pouting,  and  half  determined  not  to  heed 
her.  Morland  probably  saw  her  incipient  rebellion,  and 
his  admiration  for  the  mother  and  his  fondness  for 
the  child  made  him  forget  the  proprieties,  and  that  if 
any  one  interfered  it  was  not  his  place,  but  Tim  McCabe 's. 
He  spoke  hastily  and  almost  roughly : 

"Kitty!  go  to  your  mother  at  once!"  he  said. 

Kitty  looked  up  at  him,  too  astonished  for  the  moment 
to  have  any  other  sensation.  Morland  had  always 
made  such  a  pet  of  her,  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever 
heard  anything  but  praise  from  his  lips.  She  was  inclined 
at  first  to  resent  his  "interference,"  but  as  she  glanced 
at  him  something  in  his  eyes  made  her  own  drop,  her 
chin  quivered,  and  scarlet  with  confusion  and  a  sudden 
sense  of  shame,  she  ran  to  her  mother  and  threw  herself 
into  her  arms. 


JOHN  MORLAND  27 

Mrs.  McCabe  led  Kitty  back  into  her  little  parlour,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  the  Royal  George  thundered  up  to  the 
door,  and  Mrs.  McCabe  and  Kitty,  with  light  shawls 
covering  their  pretty  dresses,  passed  through  the  dining- 
room  to  take  their  places  in  it.  Morland  rose  from 
his  place  at  the  table  and  joined  them,  merely  to  assist 
in  putting  them  into  the  coach,  the  others  thought,  but 
through  the  broad  open  window  they  saw  him  enter  the 
coach  and  take  his  place  beside  Mrs.  McCabe.  No 
doubt  he  had  been  invited  to  Brown's,  or  perhaps  he  was 
going  without  an  invitation.  It  is  possible  that  he  had 
concluded  Kitty  needed  a  sterner  guardian  than  her 
mother  was  likely  to  be,  for  it  had  suddenly  dawned 
upon  most  of  the  men  at  that  table  that  Kitty  was 
no  longer  the  child  they  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
considering  her. 

I  like  to  think  of  that  pleasant  ride  in  the  lumbering 
old  coach  on  that  lovely  spring  evening.  The  road  they 
took  is  now  one  of  the  most  beautiful  avenues  in  the 
world,  lined  with  stately  buildings  and,  at  the  hour  when 
the  little  party  of  three  set  out  for  Georgetown,  four  miles 
away,  sure  to  be  crowded  with  fine  carriages  filled  with 
beautiful  women  and  famous  men  rolling  smoothly  over 
the  asphalt. 

But  the  magnificent  avenue  was  only  a  country  road 
then,  with  a  few  fine  houses  scattered  at  long  intervals, 
like  "The  Octagon"  and  "The  Van  Ness  Mansion"  on 
the  flats  and,  in  place  of  the  asphalt,  abounding  in  deep 
ruts  and  veritable  mudholes  in  the  spring  of  the  year, 
where  a  less  skilful  driver  than  old  Csesar  of  the  Royal 
George  might  easily  have  come  to  grief.  Yet  there  are 
always  compensations,  and  I  sometimes  think  I  would 


28  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

gladly  exchange  all  the  glittering  magnificence  of  the 
avenue  to-day  for  a  whiff  of  the  sweet  country  air  laden 
with  the  fragrance  of  lilacs  and  apple  blossoms,  and  the 
evening  song  of  the  thrush  and  the  meadow  lark  of  eighty 
years  ago. 

But  Kitty  paid  little  heed  to  meadow  lark  or  apple 
blossoms,  though  she  was  wearing  a  dainty  little  wreath 
of  the  pink  and  white  blooms  set  coquettishly  askew  on 
her  chestnut  curls.  The  coach  made  at  least  a  dozen 
stops  on  its  westward  route  to  Georgetown,  and  at  each 
stop  more  gay  young  people  entered,  girls  and  boys 
alike  greeting  Kitty  with  lively  expressions  of  delight. 
Somehow  the  boys  had  a  way  of  gathering  close  around 
Kitty  that  would  have  reminded  you  of  the  way  iron 
filings  will  fly  to  the  end  of  a  magnet  if  you  introduce  it 
among  them,  and  it  was  soon  plain  the  other  girls  did 
not  quite  like  being  deserted,  and  no  longer  looked  on 
Kitty  with  delight. 

But  Kitty  did  not  mind  the  coldness  and  averted  looks 
of  the  girls;  she  was  in  her  element  when  she  was  the 
centre  of  a  circle  of  boys,  keeping  them  all  hanging  on  her 
words  while  they  greeted  every  sally  of  her  girlish  wit  with 
shouts  of  boyish  laughter.  The  child  was  certainly 
mother  to  the  woman,  and  every  incident  of  Kitty's  life 
at  this  period  seemed  but  a  forecast  of  her  brilliant  but 
troubled  future,  with  men  her  slaves  and  women  her 
cold  and  dangerous  critics.  The  shadows  of  coming 
events  were  already  trooping  before  and  gathering  around 
Kitty  in  dark  and  threatening  masses. 

It  troubled  Mrs.  McCabe  not  a  little,  and  Morland 
almost  as  much,  to  see  the  girl  using  all  kinds  of  coquettish 
wiles  to  keep  her  circle  of  admirers  close  bound  under 


JOHN  MORLAND  29 

her  spell  and  prevent  their  return  to  their  proper  places. 
But  there  seemed  no  way  to  interfere  in  the  public  stage 
coach  without  calling  still  greater  attention  to  Kitty's 
preeminence,  and  Mrs.  McCabe  turned  to  Morland 
with  a  half  sigh: 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  her?" 

"I  would  to  heaven  I  knew  ma'am!"  responded 
Morland  so  fervently  and  so  gloomily  that  Mrs.  McCabe 
regarded  him  with  some  surprise.  It  had  not  appeared 
to  her  so  serious  a  matter  as  he  seemed  to  find  it ;  and  she 
looked  across  at  Kitty  with  a  little  worried  frown  between 
her  beautiful  eyes,  and  a  half  resolve  to  call  her  away  from 
the  circle  of  admiring  boys  and  make  her  take  her  place 
between  Morland  and  herself. 

But  what  she  saw  when  she  looked  at  Kitty  was  so 
unexpected  that  if  she  had  intended  to  summon  her  to 
her  side  the  wrords  died  on  her  lips.  The  boys  were  all 
hastily  slinking  back  to  their  seats  with  a  strangely  cowed 
air,  and  Kitty,  no  longer  shaking  her  curls  saucily,  was 
looking  indescribably  gentle  and  charmingly  subdued, 
with  her  curling  lashes  on  her  cheeks  where  the  rich 
colour  was  coming  and  going. 

The  coach  had  just  rumbled  noisily  over  the  wooden 
bridge  crossing  Goose  Creek,  the  little  stream  that  the  fond 
fancy  of  the  early  settlers  had  dubbed  the  Tiber,  as  they 
called  the  city  itself  Rome,  since  they  saw  it,  in  their  proud 
dreams,  the  future  mistress  of  the  world.  The  coach 
had  slowed  up  a  minute  on  the  farther  side  of  the  creek 
without  coming  to  a  full  stop,  and  a  youth  a  few  years 
older  than  most  of  the  boys  in  the  coach  had  swung  him 
self  aboard  and  wras  now  calmly  advancing  toward  Kitty 
with  the  air  of  one  taking  his  rightful  place.  He  was 


30  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

a  good-looking  youth,  not  strikingly  handsome,  but  it  was 
no  doubt  his  mannish  air  and  the  slight  shadow  on  his 
upper  lip  that  had  cowed  the  boys  and,  for  the  moment, 
subdued  Kitty.  Only  for  the  moment,  however;  she  was 
soon  all  dimpling  smiles  and  coquettish  airs  and  graces 
again,  with  the  difference  that  a  certain  shyness  mingled 
with  her  coquetry,  making  her  altogether  adorable. 
Mrs.  McCabe  began  now  to  be  almost  as  worried  as 
Morland  had  seemed  to  be.  Her  former  uneasiness  had 
been  only  lest  Kitty  should  make  herself  more  con 
spicuous  than  a  well-bred  child  should  in  a  public  vehicle; 
but  there  was  something  of  the  se'f-consciousness  of  the 
budding  woman  in  Kitty's  manner  now  that  vaguely 
alarmed  her  mother. 

There  was  no  bridge  at  that  day  across  beautiful 
Rock  Creek  —  the  dividing  line  between  Washington 
proper  and  Georgetown,  and  a  favourite  spot  with  the 
young  people  for  picnics  —  and  sometimes  in  the  spring  of 
the  year  the  ford  was  deep  and  dangerous.  The  water  was 
high  and  running  swiftly  on  that  warm  April  evening, 
and  as  the  horses  began  to  step  cautiously  down  the 
incline  leading  to  the  ford,  eyeing  the  rushing  waters 
distrustfully,  Mrs.  McCabe  looked  anxious.  But  Csesar 
was  a  careful  driver,  and  although  the  water  was  swirling 
over  the  hubs  and  threatening  to  enter  the  body  of  the 
coach,  all  went  well  until  they  were  quite  in  mid-stream; 
then  one  wheel  sank  in  a  rut  newly  worn  by  the  rushing 
waters,  and  the  coach  lurched  suddenly. 

The  boys  and  girls  screamed  more  from  enjoyment  than 
fear  when  they  found  themselves  in  a  huddled  jumble  in 
the  middle  of  the  coach,  but  Mrs.  McCabe  was  frightened, 
and  in  clutching  Morland  to  save  herself  from  falling 


JOHN  MORLAND  31 

missed  seeing  young  Montclair  throw  his  arm  around 
Kitty  and  hold  her  close  for  a  moment,  while  the  brilliant 
colour  that  flamed  in  Kitty's  cheeks  was  anything  but  the 
pallor  of  fear.  It  had  not  escaped  Morland's  keen 
glance,  however,  arid  as  the  horses  pulled  the  heavy 
coach  out  of  the  rut  and  climbed  the  farther  bank,  and 
they  wound  slowly  up  through  the  lovely  evening  air 
toward  Georgetown  Heights,  he  kept  his  eyes  on  Mont 
clair  with  the  evident  intention  of  letting  the  young 
fellow  know  that  he  was  under  observation. 

Nor  did  he  relax  his  surveillance  after  reaching  Brown's, 
where  Mr.  Brown  himself  received  them  with  a  courtesy 
even  statelier  than  Tim  McCabe's.  But  once  within 
the  ball-room  Mrs.  McCabe  seemed  to  feel  that  there  was 
safety  in  numbers,  and  let  her  anxiety  be  dissipated  in  the 
pleasure  she  found  in  watching  the  admiration  Kitty 
excited.  She  herself  was  the  centre  of  an  admiring  group 
of  the  older  people,  fathers  and  mothers  who  were  present 
to  chaperon  sons  and  daughters,  for  her  beauty  and  her 
grace,  combined  with  the  gentleness  and  the  amiability 
of  her  manner  and  the  brilliancy  of  her  conversation, 
made  her  always  the  centre  of  a  charmed  circle  on  the 
rare  occasions  when  she  ventured  from  home.  It  was 
common  rumour  that  Mrs.  McCabe  was  the  daughter 
of  an  English  gentleman,  who  had  made  this  unsuitable 
marriage  with  a  man  of  her  husband's  coarser  and  com 
moner  clay,  probably  won  by  the  Irishman's  soft  tongue 
when  he  was  a  younger  and  handsomer  man  and  she  but 
a  silly  schoolgirl,  too  ignorant  of  the  world  to  know  what 
she  was  doing. 

But  beautiful  as  she  was,  and  more  charming  than 
beautiful,  Morland  had  eyes  for  the  daughter  rather 


32  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

than  for  the  mother  on  this  evening.  Amid  a  throng 
of  lovely  girls  —  and  there  were  many  in  that  assembly 
just  budding  into  the  famous  beauties  of  their  day  — 
there  were  none  that  could  compare  with  Kitty  for  beauty 
or  grace.  A  creature  all  fire  and  light,  all  sparkle  and 
glow,  she  floated  through  the  mazes  of  the  dance  light 
as  a  winged  fluff  of  thistledown,  and  so  sought  after  as 
partner  by  the  boys  that  young  Montclair  had  only  a 
chance  to  dance  with  her  twice.  This  was  a  great  relief 
to  Mrs.  McCabe,  who  thought  she  need  feel  no  further 
anxiety  on  the  score  of  that  young  lady-killer,  and  might 
with  a  light  heart  enjoy  Kitty's  triumphs ;  triumphs  which 
she  was  enjoying  so  keenly  that  it  was  sometimes  difficult 
to  keep  her  thoughts  sufficiently  undistracted  to  properly 
control  and  entertain  her  own  circle  of  admirers. 

It  was  not  as  great  a  relief  to  Morland  as  it  would  have 
been  had  he  not  overheard  a  word  or  two  between  young 
Montclair  and  Kitty.  Once,  as  they  circled  by  him, 
he  heard  the  boy  say:  "To-morrow  night,  half-past 
eleven."  The  first  words  might  not  have  attracted  his 
attention,  but  the  unusual  hour  for  making  an  engagement 
aroused  his  suspicions  and  he  kept  a  keen  watch,  not 
scrupling  to  play  the  eavesdropper  as  far  as  he  was  able. 
Nothing  rewarded  his  efforts,  however.  For  the  rest  of 
the  dance  Kitty  and  Montclair  were  both  preternaturally 
silent  for  them.  If  any  words  were  exchanged  between 
them  they  were  in  so  low  a  murmur  that  no  ears,  not  the 
keenest  nor  the  most  alert,  could  catch  them. 

Mrs.  Madison,  stately  as  a  queen  in  her  trailing  robes, 
ermine-trimmed,  and  her  rich  turban  with  its  nodding 
plumes,  was  circling  about  the  room,  stopping  for  a 
moment  to  chat  with  the  various  groups  of  chaperons 


JOHN  MORLAND  33 

and  spectators,  and  carrying  with  her  in  her  progress 
from  one  group  to  another  the  little  court  that  always 
followed  in  her  train.  Now  she  stopped  for  a  moment 
beside  Mrs.  McCabe. 

"Why  has  no  one  ever  told  me  that  you  had  such  a 
radiantly  beautiful  daughter,  Mrs.  McCabe?  And 
where  have  you  kept  her  hid  all  the  years  we  were  in  the 
White  House?"  she  asked  graciously. 

Mrs.  McCabe's  heart  could  not  have  beat  with  a 
quicker  throb  of  triumph  had  this  been  indeed  a  royal 
lady  addressing  her.  She  would  have  liked  to  use,  in 
replying  to  her,  the  title  Dolly  Madison's  friends  often 
applied  to  her  in  jest—  "Your  Majesty."  But  she 
hardly  felt  on  sufficiently  intimate  terms  for  such  a 
liberty. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you,  Mrs.  Madison,  to  say  such 
kind  things  of  my  little  Kitty,"  she  said,  as  sedately  as 
possible,  trying  to  keep  the  tremor  of  delight  and  the 
sparkle  of  triumph  out  of  voice  and  eye.  "She  is  only 
just  out  of  pinafores,  and  so  if  you  have  ever  seen  her 
when  you  were  living  in  Washington  it  was  probably 
as  a  barefoot  child  making  mud  pies  in  the  gutter,  and 
you  could  not  be  supposed  to  know  whether  she  was 
pretty  or  ugly." 

"Just  out  of  pinafores,  is  she!"  responded  Mrs. 
Madison.  "Well,  I  predict  a  great  future  for  her." 

She  turned  to  look  at  Kitty,  who,  at  the  head  of  the 
long  hall,  was  at  that  moment  making  a  stately  curtsey 
to  her  partner. 

"And  just  look  at  the  little  minx  this  minute,"  she 
added  vivaciously.  "She  's  as  graceful  as  she  is  beauti 
ful,  and  has  all  the  airs  of  a  society  queen.  Oh,  I  tell 


34  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

you,  young  dandies,"  shaking  her  head  at  her  admiring 
train,  most  of  whom  were  already  well  grizzled,  "you'll 
have  to  beware  of  Kitty  McCabe;  she  's  going  to  be  a 
dangerous  young  woman!" 

Mrs.  Madison's  compliments  prepared  Mrs.  McCabe 
for  Kitty's  final  triumph.  No  doubt  in  her  heart  she  had 
expected  it  all  along,  for  who  could  compare  with  the 
peerless  Kitty!  But  she  was  so  certain  of  it  now  that  it 
would  have  been  a  cruel  blow  indeed  to  have  disappointed 
her.  Better,  perhaps,  call  it  Mrs.  McCabe's  triumph, 
for  the  saucy  minx,  Kitty,  took  it  all  with  a  careless  grace, 
as  if  she  were  only  receiving  her  due,  while  her  mother 
palpitated  and  glowed,  her  colour  coming  and  going, 
oblivious  for  the  time  of  the  circle  about  her,  and  with 
eyes  only  for  Kitty  and  the  spectacle  before  her.  And 
it  was  easily  a  picture  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  one  even  less 
intensely  interested  than  Kitty's  mother:  the  lovely  and 
graceful  girl,  half  child,  half  woman,  cheeks  glowing,  eyes 
dancing  with  delight,  bending  her  pretty  head  with  its 
chestnut  curls  to  receive  the  crown  from  the  hands  of  the 
beautiful  and  stately  woman  who  had  long  been  the 
idol  of  Washington  society,  and  whose  name  is  still 
a  name  to  conjure  with  in  the  annals  of  Republican 
queens. 

It  was  necessary  to  accompany  the  crowning  with  a 
little  speech,  and  Mrs.  Madison  knew  how  to  do  it  charm 
ingly,  and  how  to  make  the  formal  words  sound  as  little 
stilted  as  possible. 

"I  crown  you  Queen  of  Grace  and  Beauty,  fair  girl," 
she  said,  "because,  where  all  are  beautiful,  you  shine 
resplendent  and  preeminent;  where  all  are  graceful,  you 
move  as  the  goddess  Terpsichore  herself."  And  then 


JOHN  MORLAND  35 

she  bent  and  whispered  a  few  words  for  Kitty's  ear 
alone;  and  her  mother,  Morland,  and  young  Montclair, 
all  watching  eagerly,  wondered  what  the  words  could  be 
that  dyed  Kitty's  snowy  neck  with  a  sudden  wave  of  colour. 

Kitty  lifted  her  head,  with  its  crown  of  gilt  and  tinsel 
glittering  and  setting  off  her  radiant  beauty  well,  and 
curtseyed  low  to  Mrs.  Madison;  then,  as  she  turned  and 
curtseyed  to  the  admiring  throng,  who  were  noisily  express 
ing  their  approval  with  shouts  and  clapping  of  hands, 
Morland  noted  jealously  that  one  fleeting  glance  from 
her  glowing  eyes  sought  young  Montclair  before  she 
turned  to  meet  her  mother's  smile. 

The  throng  closed  in  around  her  immediately,  showering 
her  with  compliments  and  congratulations.  The  evening 
was  over,  it  was  time  to  be  thinking  of  going  home, 
and  Morland  wedged  a  path  for  Mrs.  McCabe  through 
the  throng  to  where  Kitty  stood,  Montclair  by  her  side 
looking  a  little  sulky,  and  a  crowd  of  boys  and  girls 
around  her  among  whom  she  was  distributing  impar 
tially  her  smiles  and  merry  words. 

No  doubt  the  little  coquette  knew  she  was  making 
Montclair  furious,  and  was  enjoying  it,  but  at  sight  of 
her  mother  she  forgot  all  her  little  coquetries,  and  with 
the  abandon  of  a  child  flung  herself  into  her  mother's 
arms.  It  was  that  warm-heartedness  of  Kitty,  and  her 
loyalty  to  those  she  loved,  lying  so  deep  as  sometimes 
almost  to  be  hidden  under  her  gay  and  careless  exterior, 
that  endeared  her  so  to  those  who  really  knew  her,  and 
kept  them  faithful  to  their  trust  in  her  through  all  the 
calumnies  that  later  assailed  her. 

Her  mother  held  her  close  for  a  moment  and  kissed 
her  tenderly.  When  she  released  her,  Morland,  with 


36  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

the  privilege  of  an  old  friend  and  an  older  man, 
would  have  kissed  her  too;  but  Kitty  kept  him  at  a 
distance.  She  had  suddenly  left  the  child  behind, 
and  become  the  coquette  once  more.  She  gave  him  her 
hand  with  all  the  airs  of  a  duchess. 

"You  may  kiss  my  hand,  if  you  like,  sir,"  she  said. 

Morland  stared  at  her  a  moment  dumfounded; 
he  did  not  know  his  little  Kitty.  Then,  apparently 
falling  into  her  humour,  he  gravely  bowed  low  over  her 
hand,  just  touching  it  with  his  lips.  But  he  had  his 
revenge,  for  he  turned  to  Mrs.  McCabe  as  he  lifted  his 
head  and  said,  in  a  voice  intended  to  be  audible  to  Kitty 
and  her  circle  of  admirers: 

"Zounds,  madam,  it's  time  the  child  was  taken  home 
and  put  to  bed;  her  silly  head  's  quite  turned!" 

At  which  some  of  her  admirers  were  imprudent  enough 
to  laugh,  leaving  Kitty  hot  with  indignation  and  speech 
less  with  rage. 

The  Royal  George  was  more  crowded  on  the  way 
home  than  it  had  been  on  the  way  out,  and  Kitty  was 
even  more  the  centre  of  attention.  But  there  was  a 
happy  confusion  of  voices,  for  all  tongues  had  been 
loosened  by  the  events  of  the  evening,  and  although 
Montclair  sat  on  one  side  of  Kitty,  he  had  no  chance  for 
any  conversation  with  her  not  to  be  shared  by  all  the 
others.  Morland  had  taken  good  care  this  time  not  to 
let  go  of  Kitty,  and  he  was  close  at  the  other  side  of  her. 
He  did  not  trust  young  Montclair  farther  taan  he  could 
see  him,  he  said  to  himself  grimly. 

Thanks  to  his  forethought  he  caught  a  whispered  fare 
well,  as  the  Royal  George  thundered  over  the  bridge  at 
Goose  Creek,  and  Montclair  rose  to  take  his  leave. 


JOHN  MORLAND  37 

"Remember!  You  will  not  fail  me?"  he  whispered 
sternly. 

Kitty  glanced  up  at  him,  a  half-frightened  look  in 
her  startled  eyes,  and  shook  her  head. 

"You  are  not  afraid?"  he  whispered  more  gently,  and 
Kitty  shook  her  head  again,  but  slowly,  and  with  droop 
ing  eyes  and  mounting  colour. 

For  the  rest  of  the  ride  home  Kitty  was  quiet  enough 
to  please  even  so  difficult  a  person  as  Morland, 
but  the  fact  is  he  was  not  at  all  pleased.  He  would  have 
greatly  preferred  her  noisy  coquetting  with  the  boys  to 
the  dreamy  silence  into  which  she  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  lapsed  —  a  rare  mood  with  Kitty,  and  one  that 
he  was  sure  boded  no  good. 

He  was  greatly  worried,  for  he  was  quite  certain  now 
that  there  was  mischief  of  some  kind  brewing,  and  he 
was  very  uncertain  what  steps  to  take  to  prevent  it.  Should 
he  confide  his  suspicions  to  Mrs.  McCabe,  he  might  be 
giving  her  needless  pain  and  anxiety,  and  he  had  a  feel 
ing  that  her  path  was  far  from  one  of  roses  at  the  best; 
to  add  unnecessarily  to  her  cares  and  sorrows  would 
be  but  a  cruel  thing  to  do. 

Yet  he  did  not  for  a  moment  consider  warning  Kitty's 
father.  He  had  seen  some  exhibitions  of  Tim  McCabe's 
temper  when  thoroughly  roused,  and  he  could  not  be 
sure  to  what  extremes  of  severity  he  might  go  in 
dealing  with  Kitty  should  his  suspicions  prove  correct. 
Kitty  was  but  a  tender  little  child,  wilful,  no  doubt,  as 
children  often  are,  and  silly  and  ignorant  as  young  girls 
are  likely  to  be;  but  her  very  wilfulness  and  silliness  and 
ignorance  but  made  Morland  feel  the  more  tenderly 
toward  her,  and  the  more  unwilling  to  expose  her  to  the 


38  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

harshness  of  her  father.  No,  whatever  was  to  be  done 
must  be  done  by  him  alone;  whatever  precautions  were 
to  be  taken  must  be  taken  quietly  by  himself,  and  with 
no  confidences  to  any  one. 

Fortunately  he  had  overheard  the  hour  for  the  appoint 
ment,  and  wherever  Kitty  might  be  at  that  hour  there 
would  he  be  also.  That  much  Morland  had  settled  with 
himself  by  the  time  the  Royal  George  drew  up  in  the 
broad  parallelogram  of  light  before  the  open  door  of 
McCabe's  Tavern,  whence  issued  sounds  of  revelry, 
loud  laughing,  loud  talking,  the  clinking  of  glasses,  the 
rattle  of  dice,  the  sharp  flip  of  the  cards  on  the  deal 
tables  —  all  indications  that  the  nightly  games  of  chance, 
for  which  McCabe's  was  noted,  were  in  full  swing. 

Mrs.  McCabe  seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment,  then, 
as  one  who  knows  the  ordeal  cannot  be  shunned,  she 
said  a  hurried  good-night  to  Morland,  and  drawing  Kitty 
close  to  her  tried  to  slip  unobserved  through  the  noisy 
room  to  her  own  quiet  parlour  beyond.  But  Henry 
Clay,  who  was  often  to  be  found  at  McCabe's,  where  the 
play  was  high,  caught  sight  of  the  slim  figure  in  gray, 
and  with  his  native  gallantry  rose  to  his  feet  to  show  his 
respect.  More  or  less  awkwardly  every  man  followed 
his  example,  and  a  perfect  quiet  fell  upon  the  room 
through  which  Mrs.  McCabe,  holding  Kitty  close  — 
and  Kitty  herself  shrinking  behind  her  mother  in  a 
fashion  new  to  her  —  glided  swiftly  and  silently  like  a 
gray  wraith. 

Morland,  watching  them  through  the  open  door, 
turned  away,  as  they  gained  the  safe  refuge  of  Mrs. 
McCabe's  parlour,  for  a  quiet  walk  through  the  fragrant 
evening  air.  He  had  need  of  all  the  calming  influences 


JOHN  MORLAND  39 

of  the  sweet  scents  and  soothing  sounds  of  an  April  night, 
for  as  he  hurried  away  from  the  glare  and  clamour  of 
McCabe's,  he  was  saying  over  and  over  to  himself 
bitterly : 

"My  God!  what  a  home  and  what  a  life  for  such  a 
woman  and  such  a  child!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

BARELY   IN   TIME 

IF  MORLAND  could  have  seen  little  Kitty  tossing 
feverishly  upon  her  pillow  that  night,  he  would  have 
been  more  certain  than  ever  that  his  suspicions  were 
correct.  There  was  no  sleep  in  Kitty's  eyes,  and  it  was 
not  her  dancing-school  triumphs  that  were  keeping  her 
awake.  Triumphs  of  all  kinds  sat  lightly  upon  Kitty. 
Even  at  that  early  age  she  was  quite  used  to  them,  and 
the  glow  they  brought  her  was  but  for  the  moment,  and 
not  to  be  dwelt  upon  or  lingered  over  fondly  in  memory, 
as  might  have  happened  with  one  to  whom  they  were 
more  of  a  novelty. 

To-night  as  Kitty  tossed  upon  her  pillow  it  was  of 
whispered  words  and  tones  and  glances  she  dreamed; 
of  a  promise  asked  and  given  which,  at  moments,  she 
longed  desperately  to  retract,  and  at  other  moments 
longed  as  ardently  to  hasten  its  fulfilment.  There  was 
no  real  thought  of  breaking  her  promise  in  her  mind,  for 
that  was  one  of  Kitty's  strongest  traits:  absolute  fidelity 
to  her  pledged  word.  But  as  she  lay  planning  the  details 
necessary  to  the  carrying  out  of  her  promise,  there  would 
come  to  her  suddenly  a  vivid  realization  of  all  the  sorrow 
and  desolation  it  was  going  to  bring  to  those  she  loved 
most  —  her  father's  pride  laid  low,  her  mother's  heart 
broken  —  and  at  such  moments  Mrs.  Madison's  whispered 
words  would  return  to  her  with  poignant  meaning: 

40 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND      41 

* 
"Take  care,  my  child,  lest  your  beauty  prove  a  curse 

instead  of  a  blessing.  It  is  a  great  gift  —  use  it  wisely 
and  well." 

Her  little  soul  sick  and  shuddering  with  dreadful 
apprehensions,  she  would  lie  weeping  for  awhile,  but 
not  even  then  did  she  think  of  retracting  before  it  was 
too  late.  She  was  thoroughly  infatuated  with  Harold 
Montclair,  her  first  real  lover.  Or  perhaps  it  was  love 
she  was  infatuated  with,  which  amounts  to  the  same 
thing  with  most  girls.  Either  way,  her  ardent  nature  was 
wholly  absorbed  and  ready  to  sacrifice  everything  for 
this  lover  or  this  love. 

Mrs.  McCabe,  the  next  morning,  noticed  Kitty's  pale 
face  and  listless  air  and,  attributing  them  to  the  dissi 
pation  of  the  night  before,  would  have  dosed  her  with 
some  such  nauseous  stuff  as  mothers  of  that  day  thought 
specific  for  any  ill,  but  that  Kitty  flatly  rebelled.  Her 
listlessness  continued  through  the  day,  alternating  with 
attacks  of  extreme  nervousness,  and  Mrs.  McCabe, 
fearing  a  real  illness  was  threatening,  insisted  on  putting 
Kitty  to  bed  early.  She  went  to  her  room  with  her, 
as  was  her  custom,  and  saw  her  tucked  closely  in 
bed  after  the  fashion  of  babyhood  days,  but  she  could 
not  understand  why  Kitty  clung  to  her  so  forlornly  as 
she  kissed  her  mother  over  and  over,  half  laughing, 
half  crying,  and  calling  to  her  after  she  had  left  the  room : 
"Good-night,  good-night,  mother  dear.  Oh,  mother, 
good-bye,  good-bye!" 

She  spoke  of  it  to  Morland,  who  dropped  into 
her  parlour  about  nine  o'clock.  She  had  never  seen 
Kitty  in  such  a  nervous  state  before,  she  said.  She 
feared  the  excitement  of  the  "  Coronation  "  had  been  too 


42  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

much  for  her,  but  she  had  put  her  to  bed  early  and  hoped 
everything  from  a  good  night's  sleep.  Morland  did 
not  show  any  great  interest  in  Mrs.  McCabe's  fears,  but 
then,  for  some  reason,  he  was  himself  unusually  nervous 
and  abstracted,  she  observed.  He  went  away  at  ten 
o'clock,  and  shortly  after  half-past  ten,  closing  time  at 
McCabe's  —  for  those  were  the  days  of  early  hours  in 
Washington  —  everything  was  quiet  about  the  house,  and 
the  household  apparently  wrapped  in  sleep. 

On  leaving  Mrs.  McCabe,  Morland  prowled  around 
for  awhile  to  be  sure  that  the  mischief  had  not  yet  started, 
and  then,  as  it  still  lacked  a  full  hour  to  Montclair's 
appointment,  he  walked  over  to  the  Capitol  and,  seating 
himself  on  one  of  the  fragments  of  broken  pillars  lying 
around,  looked  off  over  the  western  slopes,  not  then 
terraced  and  beautiful,  but  rough  and  strewn  with  all 
kinds  of  rubbish,  toward  the  White  House,  a  mile  away. 
Dim  and  smoky  lamps  at  long  intervals  outlined  Penn 
sylvania  Avenue,  and  lights  were  still  brightly  twinkling 
in  the  President's  mansion;  while  beyond  it  he  could 
catch  an  occasional  silvery  gleam  of  the  Potomac  curving 
around  the  foot  of  its  lawns. 

The  unusual  illumination  of  the  White  House  was  due 
to  an  evening  levee  President  Monroe  was  holding,  and 
to  which,  promptly  at  eight  o'clock,  Morland  had 
accompanied  General  Jackson.  After  a  few  minutes'  stay 
he  had  left  him  there,  with  the  excuse  that  he  had  work 
to  attend  to,  and  no  doubt  Jackson  thought  it  had  to 
do  with  his  duties  as  Senator,  and  so  excused  him.  He 
was  very  proud  of  his  young  friend,  and  specially  proud 
that  he  should  be  Senator  at  an  age  that  was  barely  legal. 
Morland  was  only  waiting  now  for  the  hour  to  pass 


JOHN  MORLAND  43 

when  he  could  begin  to  act,  and  as  he  waited  he  was 
looking  forward  prophetically  to  the  future  of  a  child 
who  was  beginning  life  with  an  elopement  at  fifteen. 
If  he  could  help  it,  that  life  should  not  be  ruined  at  the 
very  outset,  for  he  had  often  assured  himself  that,  could 
Kitty  be  safely  brought  through  the  dangerous  years 
just  ahead  of  her,  a  beautiful  and  useful  and  happy 
womanhood  was  awaiting  her. 

Musing  on  Kitty's  future,  the  time  passed  more  swiftly 
than  he  knew,  and  he  roused  himself  with  a  start  to 
find  that,  after  all  his  long  waiting  and  lingering  about 
to  be  sure  to  be  on  time,  he  would  have  to  hasten  now  or 
he  would  be  too  late. 

And  very  nearly  too  late  he  was  —  when  this  story  would 
never  have  been  written,  and,  if  the  historians  are  to 
be  believed,  the  future  of  this  great  country  would  have 
been  entirely  changed.  Morland  did  not  know  all 
the  weighty  issues  that  hung  trembling  in  the  balance  as, 
half  running  and  stumbling  at  every  step  on  broken 
masses  of  stone  and  heaps  of  rubbish,  with  the 
majestic  pile  looming  threateningly  behind  him  in  the 
dim  light  and  making  his  path  more  difficult  by 
casting  it  into  deeper  shadows,  he  hurried  down  the 
western  slopes  of  Capitol  Hill  toward  McCabe's, 
anathematizing  himself  at  every  step  for  his  needless 
tardiness. 

He  knew  Kitty's  window  very  well  —  it  was  at  the  rear 
of  the  house  overlooking  the  flower  garden,  and  he  came 
in  sight  of  it  just  in  time  to  discern  by  the  pale  light  of 
the  stars  a  curious-looking  object  slowly  creeping  up 
the  side  of  the  house.  He  could  not  distinguish  its  out 
line,  but  he  divined  at  once  what  it  was.  Without  doubt 


44  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

it  was  a  rope-ladder  being  drawn  carefully  and  noise 
lessly  into  position  for  Kitty's  use. 

The  house  stood  on  the  corner  of  two  streets,  and  the 
garden  ran  along  the  side  street,  with  a  gate  at  the  rear. 
He  would  not  wait  to  go  down  by  the  gate,  but  with  a 
running  jump  cleared  the  low  stone  wall  facing  him,  and 
landed  among  the  shrubbery  with  more  noise  in  alighting 
than  he  could  have  wished,  since  he  had  hoped  to  come 
upon  young  Montclair  silently,  and  catch  him  in  the  very 
act.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  as  it  was,  however,  for 
at  the  sudden  sound  of  his  heavy  fall  among  the  crackling 
branches  a  dark  figure  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  looked 
up  startled,  and  without  a  word  glided  swiftly  away  down 
the  garden  path,  and  through  the  gate  at  the  rear. 

"Coward!"  muttered  Morland  between  his  teeth,  for 
he  had  hoped  to  catch  the  scoundrel,  and  thus  to  leave 
Kitty  to  her  fate  with  the  tell-tale  ladder  hanging  from 
her  window  seemed  to  him  the  very  depths  of  villainy. 

He  had  expected  to  hear  some  outcry  from  Kitty  at 
her  lover's  flight,  but  she  had  been  too  absorbed  in  making 
the  ladder  secure  at  the  top  to  discover  it,  and  guessing 
that  this  was  the  state  of  the  case,  Morland  stole  softly 
to  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  and  took  young  Montclair's 
place.  For  a  moment  he  considered  the  feasibility  of 
mounting  the  ladder,  letting  Kitty  know  that  all  was  dis 
covered  and  her  lover  fled,  and  sending  her  quietly  to 
bed  with  no  one  in  the  house  the  wiser  for  her  escapade. 
But  there  were  too  many  risks  involved;  risks  he  was 
willing  enough  to  take  for  himself,  but  not  for  Kitty. 
Suppose  Kitty,  frightened  at  his  sudden  appearance, 
should  make  an  outcry  that  roused  the  house;  who 
would  understand  his  being  in  her  room  at  that  hour  of 


JOHN  MORLAND  45 

the  night?  And  all  explanations  could  only  make  it  the 
worse  for  Kitty.  Or,  suppose  the  sudden  fright  should 
throw  her  into  convulsions  ?  He  had  heard  that  it  often 
had  that  effect  on  young  girls,  sometimes  even  destroying 
the  mind.  No,  he  would  await  Kitty  at  the  foot  of  the 
ladder. 

He  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  He  heard  a  whispered 
"I  'm  ready,"  and,  also  in  a  whisper,  he  replied,  "Hurry." 
Then  he  saw  a  shadowy  figure  climb  deftly  through  the 
window  and  glide  swiftly  down  the  ladder.  But  he 
was  not  quite  prepared  for  what  followed.  Kitty's  foot 
had  not  touched  the  ground  when  she  flung  her  arms 
around  his  neck  and  between  ardent  kisses  and  stifled 
sobs  she  murmured  over  and  over: 

"Oh,  Harold,  how  can  I!  How  can  I!" 

Now  Morland  had  felt  Kitty's  arms  around  his  neck 
before,  and  had  tasted  her  kisses,  but  they  had  been  the 
caresses  given  by  a  child  to  the  friend  of  her  mother  who 
liked  to  make  a  pet  of  her,  and  had  none  of  that  peculiar 
quality  that  now  sent  the  blood  bounding  through 
his  veins  and  rushing  to  his  bronzed  cheek.  To 
his  own  surprise  he  was  greatly  embarrassed.  He  had 
supposed  he  would  know  exactly  how  to  treat  Kitty  — 
like  a  naughty  child  to  be  dealt  with  rather  sternly, 
but  also  with  much  tenderness.  Now  he  found  the 
sternness  impossible.  Involuntarily  his  arms  closed  about 
Kitty  as  tenderly  as  Harold  Montclair's  might,  and  all 
he  could  say  was,  "Oh,  Kitty!  How  could  you!" 

Terribly  startled  at  finding  herself  in  some  one's  arms 
that  were  not  Montclair's,  Kitty  struggled  desperately, 
though  silently,  to  free  herself;  but  Morland's  strong 
arms  held  her  close.  Fighting  like  some  little  wild  animal, 


46  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

even  scratching  and  biting  in  her  desperation,  he  found 
at  last  that  he  must  use  authority,  and  he  believed  a  little 
salutary  roughness  might  be  good  for  the  naughty  child. 

"Be  quiet!  Kitty,"  he  whispered  sternly.  "Mont- 
clair  is  gone!  Ran  away  and  left  you  to  your  fate,  like 
the  coward  he  is,  when  he  found  he  was  in  danger  of 
discovery!  Now  go  back  to  your  room,  unfasten  the 
rope-ladder,  and  throw  it  down,  and  go  quietly  to  bed, 
and  no  one  shall  ever  know  that  you  came  near  making  a 
terrible  fool  of  yourself,  and  ruining  your  life  forever!" 

Kitty  recognized  the  voice  now,  and  was  no  longer 
frightened,  since  she  found  it  was  her  old  friend  who 
held  her,  and  whom  the  little  minx  had  long  ago  dis 
covered  she  could  wind  around  her  finger  with  ease. 
But  for  a  moment  her  fright  only  gave  place  to  intense 
indignation  at  hearing  Montclair  called  a  coward.  Then 
in  a  flash  the  bitter  truth  came  home  to  her  that  he  was 
a  coward!  She  knew  she  could  never  have  deserted  him 
at  such  a  crisis,  but  would  have  stood  by  to  share  with 
him  whatever  fate  had  in  store.  Her  curly  head  drooped, 
and  burying  it  on  Morland's  broad  shoulder  she  wept 
bitterly,  but  quietly.  Morland  let  her  weep  for  a  few 
moments;  he  recognized  the  nature  of  her  tears,  and  he 
was  consumed  with  an  infinite  tenderness  toward  her 
that  one  of  life's  bitterest  lessons  should  have  come  to  her 
so  young. 

But  he  knew,  too,  that  time  was  precious.  Any 
moment  now  they  were  in  danger  of  discovery,  and  he 
was  in  the  act  of  telling  Kitty  she  must  dry  her  tears  and 
hasten  back  to  her  room  when  his  arm  was  seized  from 
behind,  and  a  pistol  barrel  flashed  in  his  face. 

"What  does  this  mean!"  Tim  McCabe  shouted  in  his 


JOHN  MORLAND  47 

very  ear.  "Major  Morland!  Running  off  with  my 
daughter!  By  all  that  's  holy  you  shall  answer  for  this! 
Sneak!  Scoundrel!  To  bed  with  you,  Kitty,  I  will  see 
you  later!" 

At  the  first  sound  of  her  father's  harsh  voice  Kitty, 
startled,  had  lifted  her  head  from  Morland's  shoulder, 
and  at  sight  of  the  pistol  she  had  shrieked  in  terror. 
Morland,  who  had  been  holding  her  in  his  arms  as  he 
would  have  held  a  little  child,  set  her  on  the  ground, 
and  turned  instantly  to  face  McCabe.  But  McCabe  was 
in  a  towering  rage,  and  there  was  no  stopping  the  tide 
that  poured  from  his  lips :  oaths,  accusations,  vile  epithets 
rushed  headlong  one  over  the  other. 

Pale  and  trembling,  Kitty  crept  close  to  Morland's 
side  and  he  took  hold  of  her  hand  to  try  to  reassure  her 
by  his  touch.  He  was  himself  momently  afraid  that 
Tim  McCabe,  in  his  blind  rage,  might  attempt  to  strike 
Kitty,  and  he  was  on  the  alert  to  prevent  it,  waiting  only 
for  the  flowing  tide  of  objurgations  to  exhaust  itself,  and 
give  him  a  chance  to  make  an  explanation.  In  the 
meantime  he  was  puzzling  his  brains  to  devise  an  explana 
tion  that  should,  at  least  partially,  shield  Kitty.  That 
might  have  been  easy  but  for  the  tell-tale  ladder — that 
was  an  instrument  belonging  too  peculiarly  to  midnight 
elopements  to  try  to  deny  its  present  office.  As  for  himself, 
he  should  simply  declare  himself  guiltless  of  any  intention 
of  eloping  with  Kitty,  without  implicating  Montclair, 
for  he  guessed  Kitty  would  want  her  lover  shielded  from 
her  father's  wrath. 

There  came  a  moment  when,  for  the  very  lack  of 
breath,  Tim  McCabe  had  to  pause,  but  it  was  Kitty  who 
seized  the  opportunity,  not  Morland. 


48  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Father,"  she  said  quietly,  trembling  but  brave, 
"You  are  doing  Major  Morland  great  wrong.  But  for 
him  I  should  be  at  this  moment  well  on  the  way  to  George 
town  and  you  would  not  have  discovered  it  until  morning. 
There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  protect  the  man  who  has 
not  hesitated  to  leave  me  to  my  fate,  but  I  shall  not  tell 
you  who  he  is,  only  it  is  not  Major  Morland.  He  was 
not  trying  to  rob  you  of  your  daughter,  but  to  save  your 
daughter  to  you." 

Kitty  trembled  so  violently  while  she  was  making  her 
brave  speech,  that  Morland  would  have  put  his  arm 
around  her  to  hold  her  had  he  not  feared  to  enrage 
her  father  the  more  against  her.  Had  she  spoken 
excitedly,  shouted  at  her  father  as  he  shouted  at  her, 
her  words  would  have  made  no  impression  upon  McCabe, 
but  her  very  quietness  of  tone  and  manner  carried 
conviction. 

"  I  apologize  for  my  mistake,  Major,"  he  said  surlily, 
"and  I  thank  you  for  your  kind  offices  whatever  they 
were.  As  for  you,  miss,  come  along  with  me!"  and  he 
seized  Kitty's  arm  roughly,  and  turned  toward  the  house. 

Now  was  Kitty  in  mortal  terror.  She  knew  not  what 
awful  punishment  awaited  her,  and  her  childish  imagina 
tion  pictured  the  worst.  Morland  was  hardly  in  less 
terror  for  her,  for  being  a  man  of  entirely  different  fibre, 
he  was  not  sure  to  what  lengths  Tim  McCabe's  coarseness 
and  savage  temper  might  not  go.  To  his  intense  relief 
Mrs.  McCabe  came  hurrying  from  the  house  at  this 
moment.  She  had  been  roused  by  her  husband's  loud 
tones,  and  had  hurried  into  dressing-gown  and  slippers, 
and  run  out  to  see  what  was  happening.  Her  quick 
glance  took  in  the  hanging  ladder,  Kitty,  whom  she 


JOHN  MORLAND  49 

had  left  in  bed,  entirely  dressed  clinging  to  Morland, 
and  Morland  himself,  whose  nervousness  and  dis 
traction  of  the  evening  returned  to  her  in  a  flash.  For 
one  shocked  moment  she,  too,  thought  he  had  been 
trying  to  run  away  with  Kitty,  but  her  loyalty  to  an  old 
friend  would  not  permit  her  to  harbour  such  a  thought. 
There  was  some  explanation,  she  was  sure,  and  in  the 
meantime  her  only  care  was  Kitty. 

"  My  child !  my  child ! "  she  uttered  in  a  voice  tense  with 
feeling,  but  hushed,  for  whatever  was  the  matter  she  was 
keenly  alive  to  the  necessity  of  not  arousing  the  house, 
if  it  had  not  already  been  aroused. 

Kitty  fled  into  her  mother's  outstretched  arms.  It 
was  a  curious  thing,  and  one  Morland  had  often  noted, 
that  the  big,  pompous,  blustering  Tim  McCabe  stood  more 
in  awe  of  his  gentle  wife  than  of  any  other  living  being. 
But  that  he  was  so  terribly  incensed  with  Kitty,  he  would 
never  have  ventured  on  even  the  comparatively  mild 
speech  that  he  now  uttered  in  a  low  growl,  for  his  wife's 
repressed  tones  had  brought  him  to  a  sense  of  the  impor 
tance  of  making  no  more  commotion  than  necessary. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "I  will  attend  to  your  daughter. 
Take  her  to  her  room.  I  will  be  there  presently,  as  soon 
as  I  have  made  some  further  inquiries  from  Major  Mor 
land  as  to  this  night's  doings." 

Morland  never  had  found  greater  occasion  to  admire 
Mrs.  McCabe's  courage  and  calm  good  sense  than  at 
this  moment. 

"Timothy,"  she  said,  quietly  ignoring  his  speech,  "go 
up  to  Kitty's  room  and  unfasten  that  ladder  so  that  it 
will  drop  to  the  ground.  Major  Morland  will  bring  it 
into  my  parlour  where  the  fire  is  still  burning,  and  we 


50  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

will  destroy  it.    Then,  if  he  and  Kitty  will  tell  us  all  about 
the  affair,  we  can  together  decide  what  is  to  be  done." 

She  waited  for  no  reply  from  Tim,  but  with  her  arm 
around  the  trembling  and  weeping  Kitty  she  turned  at 
once  to  the  house,  and  left  the  two  men  facing  each  other 
in  the  dim  light. 

Tim  felt  it  necessary  to  assert  himself,  and  now  that 
his  wife  was  not  present  to  overawe  him  he  found  his 
courage  again. 

"By  all  that 's  holy!"  he  blustered,  "the  madam  takes 
too  much  upon  herself.  She  need  not  think  she  's  going 
to  save  Kitty  from  the  consequences  of  this  night.  I  '11 
show  her  who  's  master  in  this  house!" 

Morland's  blood  boiled  at  this  coarse  speech,  but  he 
knew  the  folly  of  meddling  bet  ween,  man  and  wife,  and 
he  could  make  some  excuse  for  Tim's  still  unappeased 
wrath. 

"Do  you  not  think,"  he  said,  trying  to  speak  coolly, 
"that  it  would  be  wise  to  follow  your  wife's  suggestion  at 
once?  Any  moment  some  one  may  appear  to  find  out 
the  cause  of  this  midnight  commotion  and  it  would  be 
rather  awkward  to  have  to  explain  that  ladder." 

Tim  muttered  some  incoherent  reply,  of  which  only 
the  words  "By  all  that 's  holy"  were  intelligible,  but  he 
moved  away,  still  muttering,  to  execute  his  wife's 
command. 

When,  a  few  minutes  later,  Morland  brought  the  rope- 
ladder,  folded  into  as  small  a  compass  as  possible,  into 
Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour,  he  found  Kitty  and  her  mother 
seated  side  by  side  at  a  large  round  table  that  occupied 
the  centre  of  the  room,  Kitty's  head  buried  in  her  arms 
resting  on  the  table,  her  chestnut  curls  falling  forward 


JOHN  MORLAND  51 

over  her  face,  and  silent  sobs  shaking  her  from  head 
to  foot. 

Mrs.  McCabe  glanced  up  with  a  face  so  pale  and 
anguish  stricken  that  Morland's  heart  ached  for  the 
mother  more  than  for  the  daughter.  Neither  of  them 
spoke,  and  a  moment  later  McCabe  coming  in,  the  two 
men  set  silently  to  work  cutting  the  rope  into  pieces  small 
enough  to  throw  upon  the  logs.  The  fire  had  been 
smouldering,  and  now  the  tow  quickly  caught  and  blazed 
up,  filling  the  room  with  a  glow  that  insensibly  brought 
a  little  cheerfulness  to  the  depressed  circle  watch 
ing  it  as  if  they  were  three  conspirators  destroying  the 
evidences  of  their  crime.  It  helped  to  give  Mrs.  McCabe 
courage  to  begin  a  discussion  that  she  had  been  dreading 
and  shrinking  from.  She  knew  she  must  begin  it  if  she 
would  have  it  take  the  right  direction;  she  must  not  give 
Tim  a  chance  to  give  it  a  false  start. 

"Tim,"  she  said,  so  gently  that  Tim,  who  was  still 
muttering  to  himself  and  shaking  his  head  threateningly, 
looked  up  half  mollified  by  her  tone  before  she  had  uttered 
another  word,  "we  must  take  counsel  together  as  to 
what  is  the  best  thing  to  do  for  our  little  daughter.  I 
think  in  a  few  minutes,"  gently  stroking  Kitty's  chestnut 
curls  as  she  spoke,  "she  will  be  quiet  enough  to  tell  us  all 
about  it.  And  I  am  very  sure  that  at  this  moment  she 
is  as  truly  sorry  and  as  truly  repentant  for  any  wrong  she 
has  done  as  our  hearts  could  wish." 

Kitty  did  not  lift  her  head,  but  at  her  mother's  words 
the  sobs  grew  more  violent,  till  her  little  figure  shook  with 
a  perfect  hurricane  of  grief.  Morland  longed  to  assure 
her  that  it  was  all  right  now,  and  she  need  weep  no  longer, 
but  that  was  not  the  effect  Kitty's  grief  seemed  to  have 


52  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

on  her  father.  The  wrath  that  had  been  a  little  appeased 
by  his  wife's  words  flamed  up  again  at  the  sight  and  sound 
of  Kitty's  redoubled  sobs. 

"Let  her  stop  her  snivelling  and  tell  us  all  about  it 
pretty  quick,"  he  growled,  "  or  I  '11  find  some  way  to  make 
her.  What  was  the  scoundrel's  name,  Kitty?  I  intend 
to  give  him  such  a  horse-whipping  to-morrow  as  he  will 
not  soon  forget,  and  may  prove  a  warning  to  others  of 
his  kind." 

There  was  no  answer  from  Kitty,  but  a  low  moan.  To 
save  his  life  Morland  could  not  restrain  himself  at  that 
piteous  sound,  though  he  well  knew  that  it  was  not  his 
place  to  speak. 

"And  have  all  Washington  talking  about  your 
daughter's  escapade  with  some  young  rascal?"  he  said 
with  heat.  "That  would  be  a  fine  way  to  hush  the 
matter  up,  and  save  her  reputation  and  yours! " 

"  It  will  be  time  enough  to  give  your  advice  when  it 's 
asked,"  retorted  Tim  insolently. 

Morland  bit  his  lips.  Who  was  Tim  McCabe,  this 
common  Irish  innkeeper,  that  he  should  speak  like  that 
to  him!  It  was  time  for  him  to  take  his  hat  and  go,  but 
he  could  not  go  while  Kitty's  fate  was  still  so  uncertain,  and 
while  he  was  not  quite  sure  that  her  father  might  not  use 
violence  with  her.  Moreover,  he  knew  he  had  brought 
the  retort  upon  himself;  hereafter  he  would  be  wiser  and 
speak  when  he  was  spoken  to. 

A  faint  colour  had  crept  into  Mrs.  McCabe's  pale 
cheeks  at  her  husband's  words,  and  glancing  depre- 
catingly  at  Morland  she  hastened  to  speak. 

"I  think  Major  Morland  is  quite  right,  Tim,"  she 
said,  still  gently.  "It  must  be  our  effort  now  to  let  no 


JOHN  MORLAND  53 

hint  of  this  get  abroad — for  our  own  sakes,  but  most  of 
all  for  our  dear  little  daughter's." 

"And  let  the  scoundrel  go  free?"  demanded  Tim 
wrathfully.  "He  deserves  the  gallows  for  this  night's 
work,"  and  unconsciously  he  shook  his  fist  in  the  air,  as 
if  shaking  it  in  the  scoundrel's  face. 

But  at  last  Kitty  lifted  her  head  and  showed  a  most 
woe-begone,  tear-stained  face,  bearing  little  likeness  to 
the  face  of  the  Kitty  Morland  knew  best,  always  dimpling 
with  saucy  smiles.  But,  none  the  less,  the  signs  of  woe 
stirred  him  as  the  smiles  had  never  done,  and  because  he 
was  so  stirred  her  words  had  a  sting  for  him  that  Kitty 
little  dreamed. 

"He  is  no  scoundrel,  father,"  she  cried  passionately. 
"I  love  him  and  he  loves  me.  And  but  for  Major  Mor 
land  I  would  be  his  wife  by  this  time.  And  I  will  never 

forgive  the  Major  —  never!  And  I  will  still  marry ' 

She  came  near  speaking  his  name,  and  stopped  short, 
frightened  at  the  slip  she  had  almost  made. 

The  three  listeners  were  aghast,  and  Morland  was 
intensely  disappointed;  for  he  had  believed  that  the 
coward's  part  young  Montclair  had  played  must  have 
effectually  killed  Kitty's  love  for  him.  She  seemed 
now  to  have  recovered  from  her  momentary  distrust  of 
him,  and  to  be  as  madly  infatuated  as  ever,  and  it  was 
not  Montclair  but  himself  who  was  to  suffer  as  a  result 
of  his  kind  offices  in  her  behalf.  "Well,"  he  said  to 
himself,  with  a  grim  smile,  "did  I  expect  anything  dif 
ferent  ?  It  is  ever  the  way  in  a  love  affair  that  the  meddler 
gets  all  the  blows  on  both  sides." 

Her  father  gazed  at  her,  speechless,  and  her  mother  could 
only  say,  "Kitty!  and  that  is  your  gratitude  to  the 


54  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

kindest  of  friends!"  But  Morland  begged  leave  to  speak 
for  himself. 

"I  have  been  so  foolish  once  as  to  offer  advice  unasked, 
will  you  permit  me  to  do  so  again?"  he  inquired,  looking 
from  Mrs.  McCabe  to  her  husband. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Tim  gruffly. 

"It  is  what  we  need  and  will  be  grateful  for,"  said  Mrs. 
McCabe  gently. 

"I  wish  to  say,  then,  that  I  have  long  thought  that  any 
tavern,  but  more  particularly  a  tavern  like  this  one, 
patronized  only  by  men,  is  a  poor  place  in  which  to  bring 
up  a  young  girl.  Not  even  the  best  of  mothers  and  the 
most  careful  training  can  counteract  the  evil  influences 
of  such  surroundings.  I  would  recommend  that  Kitty 
be  sent  away  to  boarding-school,  and  I  believe  that  there 
could  be  no  better  one  found  than  the  Convent  of  the 
Visitation  in  Georgetown." 

Kitty  had  listened  quietly  to  him  at  first,  but  at  his 
last  words  she  almost  shrieked: 

"  I  will  not  go  into  a  convent.  I  will  not  —  I  will  not! 
I  will  run  away  again,  I  will  run  away  a  hundred  times! 
I  will  never,  never  go!" 

There  seemed  no  stopping  her,  and  Morland  again 
mentally  berated  himself  for  meddling.  Tim,  losing  what 
little  patience  he  possessed,  seized  her  roughly  by  the  arm 
and  shook  her. 

"Shut  up!  do  you  hear!"  he  shouted,  harshly.  "Any 
more  of  this  and  you  are  packed  off  to  the  convent 
to-morrow!  You  chit  of  a  child,  to  be  talking  about 
marrying!  What  you  need  is  to  be  whipped  and 
sent  to  bed,  and  kept  there  two  or  three  days  on 
bread  and  water." 


JOHN  MORLAND  55 

His  roughness  had  a  curious  effect.  In  a  moment  the 
raving  child  seemed  to  be  changed  into  a  woman.  She 
freed  herself  from  her  father's  clutch  and  spoke  with 
quiet  dignity: 

"I  am  no  '  chit  of  a  child/  father.  I  am  nearly  sixteen, 
and  I  have  always  heard  that  my  mother  was  but  sixteen 
when  I  was  born." 

The  effect  of  her  words  was  inconceivable.  Tim 
stared  blankly  at  his  wife,  and  she  gazed  back  at  him 
with  a  look  of  terror  in  her  sweet  eyes.  Her  lips  moved, 
but  almost  refused  to  speak,  yet  Morland  heard  distinctly 
under  her  breath  the  words,  "the  sins  of  the  fathers." 
Tim  sank  into  a  chair  beside  the  table  as  one  whose  strength 
had  suddenly  deserted  him,  and  bowed  his  big  head  on 
his  folded  arms.  His  wife  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
slowly  moved  toward  him,  knelt  beside  him,  put  her  head 
down  by  his,  and  her  arm  around  his  neck.  A  great 
groan  burst  from  the  man,  and  the  woman  was  trembling 
and  shaking  visibly.  It  was  more  than  Kitty  could 
stand. 

"Oh,  father,  mother!  what  have  I  said!  what  have  I 
done!"  she  cried.  "Forgive  me!  forgive  me!"  and  she 
flung  herself  beside  the  two  with  an  arm  about  each, 
imploring  their  forgiveness. 

It  was  no  place  for  any  outsider.  Morland  picked  up 
his  hat  and  stole  softly  away.  He  knew  now  that  the 
rumour  he  had  often  heard  was  true,  that  Mrs.  McCabe 
had  run  away  with  the  handsome  Tim,  and  he  could 
easily  fancy  the  anguish  of  both  parents  at  seeing  their 
early  folly  and  sin  against  their  own  parents  resurrected 
in  their  child. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  under  the  stars  wondering 


56      THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

at  those  inscrutable  laws  from  whose  judgments  there 
seems  no  escape,  in  this  world  at  least,  and  he 
found  himself  saying  aloud  to  the  quiet  night  in  a 
half  groan : 

"With  what  measure  ye  mete  it  shall  be  measured  to 
you  again." 


CHAPTER  V 

A  FATAL  SNUB 

IT  WAS  very  little  that  Morland  saw  of  Kitty  for  the 
next  three  years. 

His  advice  had  not  been  entirely  followed,  but  it  had 
suggested  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McCabe  a  way  to  manage 
their  troublesome  daughter.  They  did  not  send  her  to 
the  convent,  but  they  sent  her,  instead,  to  school  in  New 
York  under  the  care  of  Governor  Clinton,  an  old  friend 
of  both  Tim  and  his  wife.  They  had  decided  upon 
this  course  in  a  very  amicable  conference  following  that 
terrible  outburst  of  feeling  that  Kitty's  words  had  pre 
cipitated.  Sitting  between  her  father  and  mother  with 
a  hand  clasped  by  each,  parents  and  child  restored  once 
more  to  love  and  harmony,  they  talked  it  all  over,  and 
Kitty  professed  herself  ready  to  do  whatever  they  thought 
best,  providing  always  it  was  not  to  go  to  the  convent. 
Two  days  later  saw  her  on  her  way  to  New  York  with 
her  father  after  a  tearful  good-bye  to  her  mother,  and  a 
very  friendly  one  to  Morland,  whom  she  seemed  to 
entirely  forgive,  and  whose  forgiveness  in  turn  she 
evidently  thought  it  unnecessary  to  ask. 

But  Kitty  was  not  long  in  New  York.  In  spite  of  all 
the  good  Governor  could  do  —  and  he  devoted  himself 
to  Kitty's  amusement  on  Sundays  and  holidays  —  she 
was  terribly  homesick.  She  wrote  a  most  imploring 
letter  to  her  father,  promising  all  kinds  of  good  conduct 

57 


58  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

for  the  future  if  he  would  only  let  her  come  home.  It 
was  a  plea  Kitty's  mother  could  not  resist,  for  with  the 
absence  of  Kitty  the  light  and  the  joy  had  quite  gone  out 
of  her  life. 

But  desolate  as  Mrs.  McCabe  had  been  without 
Kitty,  she  might  not  have  been  willing  to  have  her  home 
from  New  York  but  for  a  most  fortunate  circumstance. 
She  was  quite  determined  that  Kitty  should  not  return 
to  the  tavern.  She  had  known  for  a  long  time  that  it 
was  no  place  for  a  girl  just  developing  into  young  woman 
hood,  but  she  had  not  realized  how  far  Kitty  had  advanced 
in  that  development  until  the  terrible  experience  of  the 
attempted  elopement.  Greatly  as  she  longed  to  have 
her  little  girl  with  her,  she  knew  now  that  Kitty  was  a 
little  girl  no  longer,  and  she  knew,  too,  that  with  remark 
able  beauty  she  had  inherited  a  strain  of  wildness  and 
audacity  through  her  Irish  blood  that  rendered  the  beauty 
doubly  dangerous. 

The  romance  of  her  own  ill-assorted  marriage  had 
quickly  faded.  Tim  McCabe  had  proved  himself  very 
different  from  the  hero  of  her  youthful  dreams.  The 
handsome  young  officer  of  dragoons  who  had  captured 
her  girlish  fancy  had  settled  down  into  a  commonplace 
tavern-keeper,  his  youthful  beauty  coarsening  with  the 
years,  and  his  youthful  ambitions  degenerating  into  a 
desire  for  no  better  fame  than  to  be  known  as  setting  the 
best  table  in  Washington.  How  earnestly  she  hoped 
for  something  finer  and  nobler  in  life  for  her  beautiful 
daughter  than  she  had  known ! 

There  seemed  to  her  now  but  one  thing  left  to  live  for: 
to  devote  every  energy  to  guarding  and  guiding  Kitty 
through  these  perilous  years  of  girlhood  into  a  safe  and 


JOHN  MORLAND  59 

happy  womanhood.  Therefore,  suffer  as  she  knew  she 
must  from  the  separation,  she  was  unwilling  to  have 
Kitty  with  her  in  the  unwholesome  surroundings  of 
McCabe's  Tavern.  But,  fortunately,  in  the  two  months 
that  Kitty  had  spent  in  New  York  "Miss  English's 
Seminary,"  only  just  started  when  Kitty  went  away,  had 
grown  into  a  large  and  flourishing  school  with  a  fully 
established  boarding  department,  already  well  patronized 
by  the  daughters  of  the  members  of  Congress.  Kitty 
should  be  put  to  school  at  Miss  English's  where  the  care 
would  be  of  the  strictest  and  the  advantages  the  best,  and 
yet  where  her  mother  could  see  her  every  few  days  when 
the  hunger  for  her  absent  daughter  should  grow 
unbearable. 

It  was  almost  June  now,  and  according  to  the  regula 
tions  of  the  present  day,  Miss  English's  school  should 
have  closed.  But  in  those  days  schools  did  not  close  until 
August.  Kitty  could  be  entered  at  once,  and  accordingly 
Tim  McCabe  took  once  more  the  long  stage-coach  trip  to 
New  York,  and  brought  Kitty  back  with  him. 

But  although  Miss  English's  school  was  still  open, 
Congress  had  adjourned,  and  Kitty,  who  was  at  home 
for  two  days  before  settling  down  in  school,  missed  most 
of  her  old  friends.  There  were  still  a  number  of 
"boarders"  left  —  Government  officials  of  various  kinds 
—  but  Major  Morland  was  not  there  nor  Mr.  Calhoun, 
nor  "Tall  Harry,"  dropping  in  to  see  her  mother  and 
chucking  Kitty  under  the  chin,  nor  her  old  friend  General 
Jackson.  Of  them  all  she  missed  Morland  most,  for  she 
had  had  him  so  entirely  at  her  beck  and  call  that  he  had 
grown  to  be  almost  one  of  the  necessities  of  her  life.  She 
was  not  at  all  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  entering  Miss 


60  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

English's  boarding-school;  but  it  was  better  than  New 
York,  and  far  better  than  the  convent,  and  she  found 
these  two  were  her  only  alternatives. 

She  entered  the  school  in  a  very  proper  spirit  of 
submission,  fully  determined  to  be  such  a  model  of 
deportment  as  should  quite  efface  from  her  mother's 
and  father's  minds  the  remembrance  of  all  wrong-doing. 
But  it  must  be  confessed  that  she  did  not  long  remain 
in  this  admirable  frame  of  mind,  and  her  three  years  at 
Miss  English's  w.ere  an  unbroken  record  of  getting  into 
schoolgirl  scrapes  and  getting  out  of  them. 

She  found  there  some  girls  she  knew  and  others  whose 
names  were  familiar  to  her,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
she  was  an  acknowledged  leader  among  them  all.  She 
was  more  popular  than  heretofore  she  had  ever  been  with 
girls,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there  were  no  boys  about, 
and  so  no  occasion  for  jealousies.  Or,  rather,  the  occa 
sions  were  few  and  at  long  intervals.  To  be  sure  there 
was  the  May  Festival  at  the  school,  when  queens  were 
elected  and  kings  chosen,  and  plays  and  concerts  given, 
winding  up  with  a  grand  ball  in  the  evening.  Kitty  was 
certain  to  be  chosen  queen,  and  to  be  given  the  star  part  in 
the  play,  and  at  the  ball  her  card  was  the  first  to  be  filled, 
with  young  men  in  troops  following  her  wherever  she 
went,  all  of  which  occasioned  a  little  feeling  at  the  time  and 
some  ill-natured  comment  from  the  less-favoured  ones. 
But  the  May  Festival  only  came  once  a  year  and  was 
forgotten  in  a  few  weeks,  and  Kitty,  who  was  generous 
with  the  rich  hampers  occasionally  permitted  from  home, 
and  always  full  of  wild  spirits,  was  soon  as  popular  as 
ever. 

Her  two  months  in  New  York  had  done  one  thine: 


JOHN  MORLAND  61 

for  her:  it  had  entirely  cured  her  of  her  infatuation  for 
Harold  Montclair.  She  had  had  leisure  to  think  him 
over,  and  there  was  always  a  substratum  of  good  sense 
under  Kitty's  scatterbrains,  though  she  did  not  always 
allow  it  to  come  to  the  surface.  She  could  see  very 
clearly  now  that  there  was  nothing  manly  in  inducing  a 
girl  of  fifteen  to  run  away  from  home,  and  it  still  rankled 
that  he  should  have  fled  at  the  first  approach  of  danger, 
and  left  her  to  meet  it  alone. 

She  had  persisted  in  her  refusal  to  reveal  Montclair's 
name,  but  Mrs.  McCabe  had  a  very  shrewd  suspicion  as 
to  his  identity,  having  witnessed  his  devotion  to  Kitty  on 
the  night  of  the  dance  at  Brown's.  It  was  a  suspicion, 
however,  which  she  did  not  communicate  to  her  husband, 
lest  he  should  be  betrayed  by  his  hasty  temper  into 
carrying  out  his  threat  and  so  let  the  whole  story, 
which  she  was  so  strenuously  trying  to  keep  quiet, 
be  bruited  abroad  —  a  savoury  morsel  for  the  scandal 
mongers  when  Kitty  should  have  arrived  at  young  woman 
hood,  and  be  subjected  to  the  limelight  that  played  about 
every  young  woman  in  Washington  society  at  that  period, 
especially  if  she  were  more  than  ordinarily  beautiful. 

Morland,  seeing  that  Mrs.  McCabe  suspected  the 
truth,  told  her  how  rightly  she  had  guessed ;  for  he  thought 
it  just  as  well  that  she  should  know  against  whom  to 
be  on  guard.  He  did  not  believe  Montclair  had  so  easily 
given  Kitty  up;  he  believed  he  was  only  waiting  for 
another  opportunity. 

He  was  quite  right  in  his  conjecture  that  Montclair 
had  not  given  up  his  designs  on  Kitty.  He  was  one  of 
the  first  to  set  the  fashion,  that  soon  became  so  universal 
among  the  Washington  young  men  interested  in  Miss 


62  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

English's  girls,  of  spending  his  leisure  hours  in  drinking 
from  the  famous  pump  across  the  street  from  her  school. 
The  pump  was  shaded  by  a  spreading  oak,  and  under 
that  spreading  oak  Montclair  spent  most  of  the  second 
day  of  Kitty's  installation  at  Miss  English's,  hoping  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  her  at  one  of  the  windows. 

He  had  only  just  heard  of  her  return  from  New  York, 
and  he  believed  Kitty  would  be  as  anxious  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  him  as  he  was  to  see  her  once  more.  Late  in  the  day 
he  was  rewarded  by  seeing  her  stop  a  moment  at  an 
open  hall  window  and  glance  in  his  direction.  He  took 
off  his  hat  and  waved  it  eagerly,  but  she  turned  away 
immediately  without  returning  his  greeting.  Montclair 
was  not  discouraged,  he  was  sure  of  one  of  two  things: 
cither  she  had  not  recognized  him,  or  there  had  been 
some  teacher  or  spy  near  by  to  prevent  her  returning  his 
salutation.  He  was  on  hand  the  next  day  with  an  insa 
tiable  thirst  that  no  water  but  the  water  from  Miss  English's 
pump  could  quench,  but  he  caught  no  glimpse  of  Kitty. 

He  kept  it  up  patiently,  day  after  day,  week  after  week. 
By  that  time  there  were  several  other  young  men 
drinking  from  the  same  pump,  and  there  were  frequent 
glimpses  of  girls  appearing  hastily  at  windows  and  waving 
white  handkerchiefs  for  a  moment.  Several  times  Kitty 
had  been  one  of  these  girls,  but  though  Montclair  always 
took  the  flutter  of  her  handkerchief  to  himself,  he  was  not 
without  a  lurking  distrust  of  one  or  two  of  the  other  boys 
who  were  as  eager  as  he  at  the  glimpse  of  Kitty. 

There  came  a  day  when  his  suspicions  were  cruelly 
confirmed.  Several  times  he  had  waylaid  the  procession 
of  girls  out  for  their  regular  afternoon  walk  under  guard 
of  a  teacher,  but  each  time  Kitty  had  passed  him  with 


JOHN  MORLAND  63 

her  eyes  demurely  dropped.  That  might  easily  be  for  the 
benefit  of  the  lynx-eyed  guardian  —  he  would  not  take  that 
as  conclusive  —  but  he  thought  he  knew  of  another  and 
a  better  chance  to  put  his  surmises  to  the  proof.  Miss 
English  herself  was  in  the  habit  of  marshalling  that  part 
of  her  flock  who  were  Episcopalians  to  St.  John's  Church 
in  Georgetown,  sending  the  others  under  convoy  of  a 
teacher  to  the  Foundry  Church,  erected  by  Mr.  Henry 
Foxhall  in  grateful  memory  of  the  cyclone  in  1814,  that 
had  intervened  to  save  his  foundry  from  the  British,  who 
were  on  their  way  to  burn  it.  These  were  the  two  popular 
churches  in  Washington  at  that  day,  and  Kitty's  father 
and  mother,  being  good  Church  of  England  people,  Kitty 
naturally  went  to  St.  John's  in  the  Royal  George,  regularly 
engaged  by  Miss  English  for  the  Sunday  use  of  her  pupils. 

On  a  lovely  Sunday  morning  in  June  Montclair  betook 
himself  thither,  too  late  for  the  services  but  in  good 
time  to  see  the  congregation  come  out.  Among  the 
glittering  array  of  fashionable  vehicles  drawn  up  around 
the  church  his  eye  fell  at  once  upon  the  Royal  George, 
an  assurance  that  no  untoward  fate  had  kept  Miss 
English's  young  ladies  at  home  that  morning.  He  was 
so  early  that  he  easily  secured  for  himself  a  post  that 
would  command  the  situation,  close  to  the  Royal  George, 
where  it  was  even  possible  he  might  find  a  chance  to 
assist  some  of  the  young  ladies  up  the  high  step  into  the 
coach. 

It  was  soon  evident  that  he  had  done  well  to  come 
early.  As  the  hour  for  closing  drew  near,  the  open  space 
in  front  of  the  church  began  to  fill  with  young  men, 
many  of  them  slipping  quietly  out  of  the  church  before 
the  service  was  quite  over  to  be  sure  of  good  positions; 


64  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

for  the  array  of  youth  and  beauty  pouring  from  St.  John's 
on  a  bright  Sunday  morning  was  a  spectacle  not  willingly 
to  be  missed  by  the  young  gallants  of  the  day. 

Of  course,  a  goodly  number  of  the  short-waisted,  long- 
skirted  coats  had  gathered  around  the  Royal  George,  for 
there  is  something  in  a  girls'  boarding-school  irresistibly 
attractive  to  the  very  young  male.  Equally,  of  course, 
since  he  had  been  first  on  the  ground,  no  one  had  quite 
so  good  a  place  as  Montclair,  and  he  could  not  restrain 
a  slight  but  supercilious  smile  as  he  caught  a  dark  look 
from  young  Laidley  whom  he  had  suspected  of  sharing 
in  Kitty's  good  graces.  He  smiled  too  soon,  however, 
for  as,  almost  the  very  last  of  the  gay  throng,  Miss 
English's  little  procession  filed  out  of  church  between 
the  double  row  of  dark  coats,  distributing  to  right  and 
left  coy  smiles  and  glances  from  under  demurely  dropped 
lids,  he  intercepted  a  ravishing  smile  and  a  bewitching 
glance  directed  full  upon  young  Laidley  from  under  the 
curling  lashes  of  the  faithless  Kitty.  He  ground  his 
teeth  with  rage,  but  was  only  the  more  determined  to 
win  such  a  signal  token  of  her  favour  as  should  send 
his  rival  off  thoroughly  discomfited;  and  as  it  came 
Kitty's  turn  to  mount  the  high  step  into  the  Royal 
George  he  darted  boldly  forward  to  assist  her  with  an 
outstretched  hand  and  a  murmured  "Allow  me,"  all 
in  his  best  manner. 

Kitty  ignored  the  hand  but  she  did  not  ignore  its 
owner.  She  turned  upon  him  a  wide-eyed  look  of  such 
insolent  disdain,  absolutely  devoid  of  'all  recognition, 
as  would  hardly  seem  possible  to  a  creature  so  young 
and  tender,  made,  one  might  think,  only  for  gentleness 
and  love.  A  suppressed  snicker  assured  Montclair  that 


JOHN  MORLAND  65 

his  discomfiture  had  not  been  unobserved  by  Laidley 
and  the  other  young  men  on  watch,  and  from  that  moment 
a  deadly  wrath  smouldered  in  his  heart  against  Kitty. 
And  there  is  no  doubt  that  a  large  part  of  her  future 
troubles  owed  their  origin  to  the  snub  so  lightly  bestowed 
that  fair  June  morning. 


CHAPTER  VI 
MRS.  ADAMS'S  BALL 

fTlHE  three  years  that  Kitty  spent  at  Miss  English's 
-•-  school  were  marked  by  a  rapid  development  from 
a  lovely  girl  into  a  radiantly  beautiful  woman. 

Morland  had  seen  Kitty  occasionally  through  her  first 
school  year.  Once  or  twice  he  had  met  her  in  Mrs. 
McCabe's  parlour  on  the  rare  occasions  when  Kitty  was 
permitted  a  visit  home.  She  never  appeared  in  the 
dining-room  at  such  times,  and  many  of  the  old  habitue's 
of  McCabe's,  who  at  first  had  missed  the  lively  child, 
were  beginning  to  forget  her  existence.  Not  so  Morland. 
He  had  been  really  fond  of  her,  and,  if  he  had  not  cared 
so  much  for  her,  the  episode  of  the  elopement,  when 
he  had  acted  the  part  of  Providence,  would  have  made 
him  feel  that  the  threads  of  Kitty's  fate  and  his  own  had, 
for  that  once  at  least,  been  so  intertwined  that  he  could 
never  quite  lose  his  interest  in  her. 

Occasionally  also  he  saw  her  at  St.  John's.  He  was 
not  a  regular  churchgoer,  but  Mrs.  McCabe  was  the  most 
faithful  of  attendants,  and  if  she  had  not  gone  from  a 
conscientious  sense  of  duty  would  have  been  just  as  faith 
ful  from  an  insatiable  desire  to  feast  her  eyes  on  her 
lovely  child  sitting  in  one  of  the  great  square  pews  near 
the  chancel.  There  was  always  opportunity  for  a  word 
with  her  while  Miss  English  was  waiting  for  the  congre 
gation  to  get  out  of  the  church  before  marshalling  out  her 

66 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND      67 

own  little  procession,  and  it  was  on  the  occasions  when 
Morland  accompanied  Mrs.  McCabe  to  church  that  he, 
too,  had  the  satisfaction  of  at  least  as  much  as  a  bow  and 
a  smile. 

But  for  the  two  years  following  Morland  was  not 
in  Washington.  Affairs  on  his  Tennessee  plantation 
demanded  his  attention,  and  he  resigned  his  seat  in 
the  Senate.  It  was  only  an  interim  of  two  years,  for  he 
was  too  valuable  to  the  Jackson  party,  when  the  hero 
began  to  be  considered  as  Presidential  timber,  not  to 
be  sent  back  to  his  old  place. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  8th  of  January,  1824. 
Morland,  who  had  only  arrived  the  day  before  in 
Washington,  was  sitting  with  General  Jackson  in 
his  room  at  Gadsby's  industriously  reading  the  National 
Intelligencer. 

"Hello!"  he  said  suddenly,  interrupting  the  silence 
that  had  been  unbroken  for  fifteen  minutes,  "our  friend 
Agg  has  turned  poet!  Just  let  me  read  you  a  verse  or  two; 
it 's  about  your  party  to-night." 

The  General  looked  up  from  his  writing  and  nodded 
his  assent,  and  as  Morland  read  he  t listened  with  a 
pleased  smile. 

"Wend  you  with  the  world  to-night? 

Sixty  gray  and  giddy  twenty, 
Flirts  that  court  and  prudes  that  slight, 

State  coquettes  and  spinsters  plenty. 
See  the  tide  of  fashion  flowing,- 

'T  is  the  noon  of  beauty's  reign  — 
Webster,  Hamilton  are  going, 

Eastern  Floyd  and  Southern  Hayne; 
Forsythe  with  her  group  of  graces, 


68  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Both  the  Crowninshields  in  blue, 
The  Pearces  with  their  heavenly  faces 

And  eyes  like  suns  that  dazzle  through. 
Belles  and  matrons,  maids  and  madams, 
All  are  gone  to  Mistress  Adams'." 

"Wend  you  with  the  world  to-night  ? 

Brown  and  fair  and  wise  and  witty, 
Eyes  that  float  in  seas  of  light, 

Laughing  mouths  and  dimples  pretty. 
Many  a  form  of  fairy  birth, 

Many  a  Hebe  yet  unwon; 
Wirt,  a  gem  of  purest  worth, 

Lovely,  laughing  Plessonton, 
Western  Thomas,  gaily  smiling, 

Boaland,  nature's  protege; 
Young  DeWolf,  all  hearts  beguiling, 

Morgan,  Benton,  Brown,  and  Lee. 
Belles  and  matrons,  maids  and  madams, 
All  are  gone  to  Mistress  Adams'." 

"A  very  pretty  poem,"  said  the  General  gravely. 

"  And  I  think  it 's  a  straw  that  foreshadows  what  a 
grand  party  this  is  to  be  to-night,"  Morland  added. 
"It  strikes  me  as  particularly  civil  of  Mrs.  Adams  to  be 
giving  a  party  to  her  husband's  most  formidable  rival." 

"  It  's  not  as  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency,  I  suppose, 
that  she  tenders  me  this  courtesy,"  said  Jackson,  smiling 
grimly. 

"Oh,  no,  of  course  not;  it 's  as  the  hero  of  New  Orleans 
and  to  celebrate  the  Eighth  of  January.  But  none  the 
less  I  think  it 's  very  clever  of  her." 

"It  is!  And  I  fully  appreciate  it.  I  consider  Mrs. 
Adams  a  most  excellent  lady  and  I  have  the  highest 


JOHN  MORLAND  69 

regard  for  her  husband,"  said  Jackson  formally.  Then 
he  added,  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness  that  he  could  never 
restrain  when  speaking  of  Clay: 

"When  I  remember  from  whom  we  were  saved  when 
the  portfolio  of  State  was  given  to  him,  I  am  heartily 
grateful  to  both  Mr.  Monroe  and  Mr.  Adams." 

Morland  looked  a  little  astonished  at  the  bitterness  of 
the  General's  tone. 

"But  I  've  been  hearing  in  Tennessee  this  winter  that 
you  had  made  up  with  Clay  and  were  on  the  most  cordial 
terms  with  him." 

"I  said  'How  do  you  do'  when  I  met  him,  and  asked 
for  his  wife;  and  he  said  'How  do  you  do'  and  asked  for 
my  wife.  We  've  dined  together  at  his  lodgings,  and  then 
we  dined  together  at  mine,  and  we  shook  hands  when  we 
both  dined  at  President  Monroe's;  that  is  the  extent  of 
our  cordial  terms.  I  still  think  there  is  not  much  love 
lost  between  us." 

"Well,  I  'm  glad  that  you  're  at  least  outwardly  civil," 
returned  Morland.  "  Clay 's  a  dog  whose  good-will  is 
much  better  to  cultivate  than  his  ill-will."  And  then  he 
went  on  with  the  freedom  permitted  him  by  old 
friendship : 

"I  've  been,  hearing,  too,  that  you  've  made  it  up  with 
Scott  and  Benton,  and  that,  in  fact,  you  were  no  longer 
going  around  with  a  chip  on  your  shoulder,  and  I  was 
particularly  glad  to  hear  it.  Discretion  is  much  the  better 
part  of  valour  in  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency." 

The  General  smiled  rather  consciously. 

"Oh,  I  'm  not  quite  a  candidate  yet,  only  an  'aspirant' 
is  what  they  call  me.  I  know  my  change  of  attitude 
toward  Clay  and  Benton  is  attributed  by  them  and  by 


70  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

others  to  political  cunning,  but  I  'm  not  sure  politics  had 
anything  to  do  with  it.  I  rather  think  I  'm  growing 
more  amiable  as  I  grow  older,  and  that  chip  you  accuse 
me  of  has  become  a  burden;  I  'm  glad  to  get  rid  of  it. 
None  the  less,  if  they  try  any  of  their  underhand  tricks 
on  me  they  will  find  the  old  war-horse  is  only  dozing  and 
still  has  fight  in  him." 

"I  don't  doubt  that,"  said  Morland  laughing,  and 
turned  to  his  paper  as  the  General  picked  up  his  pen 
and  slowly  and  laboriously  went  on  with  his  writing. 

It  was  indeed  to  be  a  grand  party  at  Mrs.  Adams's,  and 
all  Washington  had  been  on  the  qui  vive  about  it  for 
weeks.  The  large  double  house  on  F  Street  had  been 
for  days  the  centre  of  happy  bustle  and  confusion.  Two 
young  ladies  were  visiting  Mrs.  Adams,  the  Misses 
Hellen,  and  with  the  two  young  sons  of  the  house,  George 
and  John,  had  devoted  themselves  to  the  arduous  task 
of  decorating  the  rooms  with  garlands  of  evergreen  and 
tissue-paper  roses. 

The  effect  was  especially  gorgeous  in  the  great  ball 
room  on  the  second  floor.  The  pillars  were  twined  with 
laurel  and  wintergreen,  everywhere  wreaths  of  cedar 
and  roses  interspersed  with  small  variegated  lamps, 
and  from  the  centre  of  the  room  hung  a  great  lustre 
glittering  with  crystal  and  hundreds  of  wax  tapers. 
But  the  floor  was  the  triumph  of  art.  It  was  chalked 
all  over  with  spread  eagles  done  in  red,  white,  and 
blue  chalk,  and  before  the  entrance-door  in  a  great 
semicircle  were  the  words  "Welcome  to  the  Hero  of 
New  Orleans." 

Seldom  had  Washington  seen  anything  so  elaborate 


JOHN  MORLAND  71 

in  decoration,  and  never  a  more  brilliant  company  than 
gathered  around  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Adams,  President  Monroe, 
and  General  Jackson,  as  they  stood  together  receiving 
the  guests  who  thronged  the  glittering  ball-room;  the 
old  hero  looking  almost  handsome,  certainly  distinguished, 
as  he  stood  beside  Mrs.  Adams  with  his  genial  smile 
receiving  the  salutations  of  the  arriving  guests. 

Behind  the  receiving  party,  and  in  glittering  contrast 
to  the  soberness  of  their  costumes,  stood  a  semicircle  of 
distinguished  officers,  senators,  and  members  of  the  diplo 
matic  corps.  The  officers  were  in  full-dress  uniforms 
gay  with  gold-lace  and  buttons;  the  members  of  the 
diplomatic  corps  wore  the  gorgeous  regalia  of  their  various 
courts  blazing  with  jewelled  orders;  and  those  who  had 
no  uniforms  in  which  to  deck  themselves  were  brave  in 
the  tightest  of  small-clothes,  silk  stockings  and  pumps 
with  glittering  buckles,  or  Hessian  top-boots  decorated 
with  heavy  gold  cord  and  tassels,  coats  of  claret  or 
green  or  blue  cloth  studded  with  gilt  buttons,  two  or  three 
waistcoats  of  contrasting  colors,  and  voluminous  neck 
cloths  of  finest  cambric  ruffling  into  the  waistcoats.  No 
ball-room  of  to-day  could  vie  with  it  in  gorgeous 
colouring. 

Morland,  who  had  accompanied  the  General  to  Mrs. 
Adams's,  stood  a  little  at  one  side  of  the  semicircle,  watch 
ing  the  arrivals  and  listening  to  the  comments  of  Mrs. 
Madison  who  stood  beside  him.  Most  of  the  company 
were  well  known  to  him,  but  there  had  been  of  course 
new  arrivals  in  Washington  in  the  last  two  years,  and 
Mrs.  Madison  knew  them  all  and  had  a  spicy  word  of 
compliment  or  criticism  for  each. 

"Here  come  our  three  Nestors,"  she  exclaimed  as  three 


72  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

striking  figures  entered  arm  in  arm.  "They  are  a  trio  for 
any  country  to  be  proud  of!" 

Morland  agreed  with  her  and  they  silently  watched 
Hayne,  the  youthful  and  distinguished  Senator  from  South 
Carolina,  Wirt,  the  learned  and  handsome  Attorney- 
General,  and  the  regal  Webster  approach  the  receiving 
party  and  make  their  formal  bows. 

"I  wonder  at  the  friendship  between  Webster  and 
Hayne,"  said  Mrs.  Madison.  "They  seem  to  me  to  have 
no  interests  in  common;  they  are  always  on  opposing 
sides  in  every  question." 

Hayne  had  entered  the  Senate  just  as  Morland  was 
leaving  Washington  for  his  two  years'  absence,  but  Mor 
land  had  watched  his  career  closely  through  the  news 
papers,  and  there  was  no  man  whose  personality  interested 
him  more  keenly. 

"I  don't  believe  it  could  be  called  friendship,"  he 
replied  to  Mrs.  Madison,  "so  much  as  mutual  admiration. 
They  are  somewhat  of  the  same  calibre,  though  Webster 
is  such  a  giant,  intellectually,  he  dwarfs  every  man  that 
comes  near  him." 

The  three  men  had  separated  after  lingering  for  a 
moment  talking  with  Jackson,  and  now  Hayne  approached 
Mrs.  Madison,  who  was,  indeed,  holding  almost  as  much 
of  a  levee  as  the  receiving  party  proper. 

"We  were  just  saying,  Mr.  Hayne,"  said  Mrs.  Madison 
with  the  gentle  audacity  that  was  always  one  of  her  charms, 
"that  it  was  difficult  to  understand  the  attraction  Massa 
chusetts  seems  to  have  for  South  Carolina." 

"Meaning  Webster  for  Hayne,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
Senator  smiling.  "  I  have  certainly  the  highest  admiration 
for  Mr.  Webster,  madam.  I  have  never  heard  him  utter 


73 

a  word  in  a  careless  or  vulgar  style,  and  he  never  seems 
to  forget  his  own  dignity  or  to  be  unmindful  of  the  char 
acter  or  the  feelings  of  others." 

It  was  a  noble  tribute  from  such  a  man,  and  when  a 
few  minutes  later  Hayne  had  moved  on  and  Webster 
had  taken  his  place  at  Mrs.  Madison's  side  she  could  not 
forbear  repeating  it  to  him. 

"I  am  greatly  gratified  at  such  words  from  such  a 
man,"  said  the  great  New  Englander,  "but  let  me  say, 
Mrs.  Madison,  I  could  not  so  cleverly  or  so  accurately 
have  painted  Hayne's  own  portrait  as  he  has  done  in  his 
own  words." 

"Ah,  I  see  it's  exactly  as  Senator  Morland  says,  a 
mutual-admiration  society;  and  just  as  I  have  always 
maintained,  admiration  depends  for  its  existence  on  good 
looks,  good  manners  and  good  morals,  and  has  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  views  or  opinions  or  even  principles." 

"You  must  be  right,  as  you  always  are,"  said  Webster 
genially,  "for  no  two  men  could  be  farther  apart  as  a  rule 
in  their  views  than  Hayne  and  myself." 

Mrs.  Madison  hardly  heard  his  last  words,  for  she 
had  caught  sight  of  a  towering  figure  just  entering  the 
room  that  interested  her  greatly,  and  barely  had  Webster 
finished  speaking  when  she  exclaimed  with  great  vivacity: 

"Here  he  comes  at  last!  I  was  not  sure  he  would 
come  at  all,  and  I  'm  dying  to  see  how  Jackson  receives 
him." 

"Oh,  did  n't  you  know  that  Jackson  had  made  it  up 
with  the  General?"  asked  Webster,  following  Mrs. 
Madison's  eyes  and  seeing  of  whom  she  spoke.  "They 
had  a  formal  reconciliation  a  few  weeks  ago.  Am  I  not 
right,  Mr.  Morland?" 


74  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Yes,"  returned  Morland,  "I  think,  as  General  Jackson 
himself  says,  he  is  growing  amiable  as  he  grows  older. 
I  believe  he  has  made  up  most  of  his  old  quarrels  since  he 
took  his  seat  in  the  Senate  in  December.  But,  Mrs. 
Madison,"  he  added,  turning  eagerly  to  her,  "can  I 
believe  my  eyes?  Is  that  Mrs.  Decatur  on  General 
Scott's  arm?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Madison  smiling  a  little,  for  she  readily 
understood  why  Morland  should  be  so  incredulous, 
"that  is  Mrs.  Decatur,  and  do  they  not  make  the  most 
striking  couple  in  the  room?  No  one  could  be  quite  so 
magnificent  as  the  General,  and  no  woman  so  beautiful 
or  distinguished-looking  as  Mrs.  Decatur." 

'  You  are  right  about  the  General,"  said  Webster. 
"America  has  seldom  produced  so  majestic  a  presence. 
But  there  are  others,"  bowing  gallantly  to  Mrs.  Madison, 
"who  could  rival  Mrs.  Decatur,  beautiful  and  accom 
plished  as  she  is." 

"But,"  interposed  Morland,  still  perplexed,  "when  I 
left  Washington  she  was  in  the  very  depths  of  woe  over 
that  fatal  duel.  I  never  expected  to  see  her  in  society 
again." 

"I  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Madison,  "that  Mrs.  Decatur 
has  never  ceased  and  never  will  cease  to  mourn  the 
Commodore,  but  she  only  withdrew  from  society  for  a 
few  months,  and  since  her  return  she  has  taken  Kalorama 
and  entertains  magnificently.  Of  course  she  has  been 
criticised  but  I  rather  admire  her  independence." 

They  were  watching  the  two  distinguished  figures 
who  had  now  approached  the  receiving  party.  There 
was  no  handshaking  at  that  time  in  Washington  on 
such  occasions,  and  Mrs.  Decatur  was  making  a  succession 


JOHN  MORLAND  75 

of  sweeping  curtsies,  and  the  General  very  grand  and 
stately  bows. 

"He  certainly  has  the  grand  manner  appropriate  to 
his  presence,"  laughed  Webster.  "I  don't  believe  that 
General  Washington  himself  was  courtlier.  But  he  's 
a  dogmatic,  disputatious  fellow,  too,  and  he  does  hate 
to  lose  at  cards,  and  has  always  all  kinds  of  queer  excuses 
to  explain  why  he  loses.  We  were  at  dinner  at  Mrs. 
Decatur's  last  night,  and  after  dinner  we  had  whist,  of 
course,  and  the  General  was  pitted  against  Clay.  Clay 
always  wins,  you  know,  but  the  General  must  make  an 
excuse,  as  usual,  for  losing.  'I  had  to  get  up  and  spit/  he 
said  with  the  most  perfect  gravity,  '  and  so  I  lost  the  run.' 
We  were  all  inwardly  convulsed  but  the  General  was  as 
serious  as  if  he  were  explaining  a  failure  in  a  military 
manoeuvre,  and  no  one  dared  smile." 

Mrs.  Madison  and  Morland  laughed  as  heartily  as 
Webster  and  Mrs.  Decatur's  other  guests  had  wanted 
to,  but  had  not  dared,  for  they  both  knew  how  peculiarly 
characteristic  the  anecdote  was  of  the  handsome,  but 
pompous,  young  General. 

But  Mrs.  Madison  could  never  hear  a  story  without 
being  ready  to  cap  it  with  another. 

"He  has  about  as  much  sense  of  humour  as  Mrs. 
Clay,"  she  said.  "You  heard  how  she  replied  to  the 
Boston  lady  who  was  frank  enough  to  ask  her  if  it  did  not 
distress  her  to  have  her  brilliant  husband  gamble? 
'Sometimes,  yes,'  said  Mrs.  Clay  seriously,  'but  really, 
you  know,  he  almost  always  wins.'  ' 

"Now  I  call  that  the  most  delicious  kind  of  humour," 
said  Webster  interrupting  the  laugh  with  which  he  and 
Morland  had  greeted  Mrs.  Madison's  story.  "I  am  sure 


76  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

I  would  never  have  dreamed  Mrs.  Clay  equal  to  anything 
so  delicate  and  so  keen." 

"Possibly  you  're  right,"  returned  Mrs.  Madison,  "and 
it  may  be  that  Mrs.  Clay  is  a  wit  of  the  highest  order. 
But,  Major  Morland,"  turning  excitedly  to  him,  "here 
come  two  people  I  am  sure  you  are  interested  in." 

Morland  had  seen  them  before  Mrs.  Madison  spoke. 
In  fact,  he  had  been  eagerly  watching  for  them  all  the 
evening.  He  would  not  have  been  certain  of  meeting 
them  at  such  a  grand  party  as  this  but  that  Jackson  had 
told  him  that  he  had  himself  requested  an  invitation  for 
them  from  Mrs.  Adams.  He  was  curiously  eager  to  see 
Kitty.  This  was  her  first  appearance  in  real  "society" 
in  Washington,  though  she  was  well  known  to  all  the 
young  gallants,  and  to  many  of  the  older  ones  from  her 
daily  walks  abroad  with  Miss  English's  young  ladies, 
her  weekly  appearance  at  St.  John's,  and  her  yearly 
triumphs  at  the  May  Festival. 

The  picture  that  Morland  held  in  memory  of  her  was 
the  picture  of  the  lovely  child  as  she  appeared  at  the 
dancing-school  at  Brown's  in  Georgetown,  and  of  the 
same  lovely  face,  tear-stained  and  woe-begone,  in  Mrs. 
McCabe's  parlour  on  the  night  of  the  attempted  elope 
ment.  He  was  not  prepared  for  the  radiant  beauty  that 
burst  upon  him  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  Kitty  and  her  mother, 
and  it  was  evident  from  the  hush  and  subdued  murmur 
that  accompanied  the  progress  of  the  two  stately  women 
through  the  room  that  Washington  society  was  hardly 
prepared  for  it  either.  Enchanting  as  Kitty  was  bound 
to  be  in  street  dress  or  church  dress,  as  Washington  was 
accustomed  to  see  her,  Kitty  in  evening  dress  was  divine. 
The  two,  mother  and  daughter,  might  have  been  sisters 


JOHN  MORLAND  77 

as,  almost  of  the  same  height,  they  rather  floated  than 
walked  down  the  long  room,  the  two  heads,  one  brown 
the  other  golden,  borne  proudly  on  slender  white  necks 
with  the  same  stately  grace,  like  lilies  on  their  slender 
stalks. 

Mrs.  McCabe's  beauty  could  never  grow  old  for  it 
was  of  that  spiritual  order  hardly  affected  by  the  passing 
years,  and  with  so  little  of  the  earthly  about  it  that, 
though  men  had  always  sought  her  and  worshipped  her, 
there  had  never  been  a  breath  to  tarnish  her  name  in  a 
capital  the  most  eagerly  scandal  loving  of  its  day.  But 
Kitty  was  of  a  different  type.  Her  height,  her  stately 
grace  and  noble  bearing  were  her  mother's,  but  all  her 
other  charms  were  from  her  Irish  blood.  Her  mother 
had  the  pale  gold  and  rose  of  the  English  beauty;  Kitty's 
beauty  was  darker,  more  vivid,  more  glowing.  Not  so 
slender  as  her  mother,  the  noble  lines  of  her  figure  dis 
closed  the  luxuriant  womanhood  into  which  she  had 
blossomed.  From  the  white  nape  of  her  slender  neck 
her  chestnut  hair  waved  abundantly,  with  touches  of 
burnished  gold  in  its  highlights,  to  the  very  crown  of  her 
dainty  head.  Its  crispness  and  luxuriance  bespoke 
the  wonderful  vitality  that  breathed  from  Kitty  like  a 
sensible  emanation,  and  was  so  largely  responsible  for 
her  magnetic  personality.  It  breathed  in  the  glowing 
glances  of  her  eyes,  of  so  dark  and  rich  a  gray  they  were 
often  taken  for  black;  in  the  thick  and  curling  lashes  that 
veiled  them;  in  the  vivid  white  and  rose  of  her  cheek, 
mingled  with  a  cunning  no  art  could  imitate;  in  the 
delicious  curves  of  her  scarlet  lips  and,  most  of  all,  in  the 
rich  and  ardent  tones  of  her  voice  that  had  caught  just 
enough  of  the  Irish  inflections  to  make  it  adorable. 


78  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

There  was  nothing  spirituelle  in  Kitty's  beauty;  it  was 
all  human,  generous,  ardent,  bewitching,  irresistible; 
and  alas  it  was  of  the  kind  to  make  her  more  foes  than 
friends  in  a  coldly  carping  world. 

Morland's  first  glance  at  all  this  radiant  beauty  had 
a  very  unexpected  effect  upon  him.  For  a  moment  he 
experienced  a  thrill  closely  akin  to  that  he  had  felt  when 
Kitty's  arms  had  been  ardently  thrown  around  his  neck 
on  the  night  of  the  elopement.  The  thrill  was  suc 
ceeded  by  an  anxious  self-consciousness  that  was  not  an 
habitual  experience  with  him.  There  was  an  air  of 
matured  womanhood  about  Kitty  that  had  occasioned 
the  unexpected  thrill,  but  it  was  her  effect  of  glowing  youth 
that  produced  the  self-consciousness.  He  glanced  anx 
iously  into  a  tall  pier-glass  near  him  to  see  whether  his 
thirty-four  years  sat  heavily  on  him.  He  was  not  a  man 
much  given  to  considering  his  personal  appearance,  yet 
no  doubt  he  had  his  share  of  vanity,  and  his  stealthy  glance 
at  his  own  reflection  reassured  him.  There  were  no 
streaks  of  gray  in  the  waves  of  thick  brown  hair;  the  eyes, 
a  dark  blue,  were  keen  and  bright  with  a  peculiarly  level 
glance  from  beneath  straight  brows;  and,  for  the  rest  of 
his  face,  the  chin  was  strong  and  the  other  features  clearly 
cut.  But  he  was  really  quite  struck  with  something  his 
fleeting  glance  in  the  glass  had  shown  him.  Little 
attention  as  he  had  paid  to  clothes,  between  his  tailor 
and  his  own  naturally  erect  and  graceful  figure  he  might 
have  passed  for  the  glass  of  fashion;  the  swallowtail 
skirts  of  his  coat  of  fine  blue  cloth  very  long,  the  waist 
very  short  with  wide  rolling  collar  and  buttons  of  heavy 
gilt,  his  two  waistcoats,  which  his  tailor  had  insisted 
upon  his  wearing  out  of  deference  to  the  prevailing  style, 


JOHN  MORLAND  79 

one  buff  the  other  a  light  gray,  crossed  by  a  regulation 
watch  chain  of  heavy  gold  from  which  depended  a  mas 
sive  fob  of  cut  carnelian,  and  all  this  magnificence  sub 
dued  by  the  soft  frills  of  a  fine  white  neckcloth.  No 
dandy  in  the  room  could  be  finer,  and  though  Morland 
was  far  from  being  or  desiring  to  be  a  dandy,  his  feeling 
himself  as  well  dressed  as  the  best  had  its  usual  effect 
in  restoring  him  to  his  ease.  He  no  longer  thought  of 
his  own  personal  appearance,  but  had  all  his  attention  free 
for  Kitty. 

It  pleased  him  greatly  to  see  how  cordially  General 
Jackson  received  his  two  old  friends,  and  with  what 
maidenly  sweetness  and  deference  Kitty  returned  his 
greeting.  Nothing  could  be  better  than  her  manners,  he 
said  to  himself.  If  the  President  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Adams  were  not  quite  so  cordial  as  the  General  it  was  not 
their  way,  perhaps,  and  there  was  nothing  lacking  of 
courtesy  in  their  reception  of  the  two;  and  when  they 
had  had,  also,  a  distant  and  stately  bow  from  the  Secretary 
of  War  and  Mrs.  Calhoun,  standing  in  the  glittering 
semicircle  behind  the  receiving  party,  Morland  thought 
Kitty  might  be  considered  as  fairly  launched  in  Washington 
society. 

That  there  might  be  no  moment  of  awkwardness  for 
the  two  women  he  hastened  forward,  as  their  formal 
salutations  were  finished,  to  offer  an  arm  to  each, 
intending  to  introduce  them  to  such  of  his  friends 
as  he  thought  might  prove  desirable  acquaintances;  for, 
being  rich,  good-looking,  and  a  bachelor  to  boot,  he  was 
a  general  favourite  in  Washington,  and  he  knew  Mrs. 
McCabe's  circle  of  acquaintances  must  be  necessarily  a 
limited  one. 


80  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

But  he  had  no  chance  to  put  his  amiable  intentions 
into  practice,  for  he  had  barely  time  to  exchange  cordial 
greetings  with  them  when  Kitty  was  surrounded  by  a 
throng  of  young  men,  either  claiming  an  acquaintance  or 
seeking  an  introduction,  and  all  demanding  a  place  on 
her  dancing  card.  Morland,  who  had  been  contemplating 
with  some  satisfaction  his  role  of  patron,  found  himself 
likely  to  be  left  out  in  the  cold ;  and  although  he  had  come 
to  the  ball  with  no  intention  of  dancing  it  now  began  to 
seem  a  serious  matter  to  him  if  he  could  not  have  at  least 
one  dance  with  Kitty. 

He  found  a  moment  when  the  throng  was  a  little  less 
pressing  to  prefer  his  request.  Kitty  hesitated,  and 
intimated,  if  she  did  not  quite  say  it,  that  her  card  was 
full.  Unfortunately  he  had  been  so  close  at  her  side 
that  he  could  not  help  knowing  from  the  testimony 
of  his  own  eyes  that  there  was  still  one  vacant  place  upon 
it.  Of  course  he  was  hurt  by  this  irrefutable  evidence 
that  Kitty  did  not  want  to  dance  with  him,  but  no  doubt 
to  Kitty's  nineteen  years  he  seemed  an  old  fellow  indeed 
—  a  friend  of  her  mother's  to  be  treated  with  liking  and 
respect,  but  not  one  to  whom  she  would  readily  relinquish  a 
dance  so  eagerly  coveted  by  younger  beaux.  He  withdrew 
a  little  from  Kitty  and  devoted  himself  more  exclusively 
to  her  mother. 

From  his  post  of  observation,  a  little  in  Kitty's  rear, 
he  now  began  to  notice  frequent  and  anxious  glances, 
only  half  veiled,  directed  by  her  sometimes  toward  the 
throng  surrounding  General  Jackson,  sometimes  toward 
the  stream  of  newly  arriving  guests  still  entering  the 
ball-room.  Kitty  was  evidently  on  the  watch  for  some 
one  who  had  not  yet  appeared  and  for  whom  she  was 


JOHN  MORLAND  81 

reserving  that  vacant  place  on  her  card.  Well,  he  would 
keep  on  the  watch  too;  as  her  mother's  friend,  and  a  sort 
of  self-constituted  guardian  to  Kitty  it  behooved  him  to 
know  who  had  already  secured  for  himself  such  a  place  in 
her  interest. 

He  began  to  fear  it  might  be  Montclair,  for  Montclair 
had  not  yet  appeared  in  the  ball-room.  A  little  later 
his  suspicions  were  confirmed.  Montclair  entered, 
resplendently  arrayed  in  coat  and  small-clothes  of  claret- 
coloured  cloth,  three  waistcoats,  yellow,  green  and  mode 
colour,  and  curled  and  perfumed  to  the  last  degree.  It 
was  nine  o'clock  when  he  entered  the  room,  an  unheard- 
of  hour  for  Washington,  but  Montclair  had  carefully 
timed  his  entrance  to  produce  the  greatest  effect.  All 
eyes  were  turned  on  him  as  he  made  his  bows  to  the 
General  and  his  party,  those  who  did  not  know  him 
admiring  him  and  taking  him  to  be  some  one  of  distinction ; 
those  who  knew  him,  and  they  were  a  very  large  majority  of 
those  present,  not  admiring  him  so  much,  but  taking 
careful  note  of  his  dress  as  one  on  whom  they  could  rely  to 
show  them  the  latest  and  most  pronounced  styles. 

Morland's  eyes  were  on  him  for  neither  of  these  rea 
sons,  but  because  he  did  not  intend  to  let  any  glance  or 
any  movement  of  Montclair's  escape  him;  and  he  was 
repaid  for  his  espionage  by  seeing  the  moment  when 
Montclair's  eyes  first  fell  on  Kitty  and  the  effect  she 
produced  upon  him.  He  started  noticeably,  coloured, 
and  then,  apparently  taking  some  distinct  resolution, 
assumed  the  air  of  easy  confidence  belonging  to  an  avowed 
lady-killer  and  strolled  leisurely  toward  her.  Morland 
had  known  nothing  of  the  snub  Kitty  had  once  adminis 
tered  to  Montclair,  and  so  did  not  know  that  he  was 


82  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

about  to  perpetrate  a  very  bold  piece  of  effrontery,  and 
noting  the  signs  of  confusion  with  which  Kitty  had  first 
recognized  Montclair's  intention,  he  had  now  no  doubt 
that  it  was  for  him  she  had  been  saving  that  dance. 

By  the  time  Montclair  was  ready  to  make  his  bow  to 
Kitty  she  had  quite  recovered  from  her  confusion  and 
quite  determined  upon  her  course.  She  would  not  again 
cut  him  in  public,  she  would  do  nothing  to  draw  attention 
to  their  relations  to  each  other.  Therefore  she  curtsied 
low  in  response  to  his  elaborate  bow,  and  said  quite 
sweetly,  "You  are  late,  Mr.  Montclair,"  purposely,  though 
apparently  unconsciously,  allowing  him  a  glimpse  of 
her  card  and  its  one  vacant  space. 

"But  not  too  late,  I  see,  to  claim  a  dance  from  the  most 
beautiful  creature  in  the  room,"  returned  Montclair 
gallantly,  lifting  her  card  as  he  spoke  to  write  his  name 
on  it. 

"Oh,  I  am  afraid  you  are  a  little  too  late  for  that, 
if  it 's  me  you  mean  by  such  a  description,"  she 
said  calmly. 

"You  must  know  the  description  is  true  of  no  other, 
Kitty,"  he  returned  in  a  low  tone,  so  low  as  intended  to 
have  the  air  of  being  on  familiar  terms;  and  then,  a  little 
louder: 

"  But  you  are  mistaken  —  there  is  still  one  dance  left." 

"Oh,  that!"  said  Kitty,  taking  the  card  in  her  hand. 
She  turned  toward  Morland  just  behind  her,  handing  him 
the  card  with  her  sweetest  smile: 

"Major  Morland,  this  must  be  your  dance;  you  forgot 
to  put  down  your  name." 

Morland  was  bewildered,  but  there  was  nothing  for 
him  to  do  but  inscribe  his  name  and  hand  Kitty  back 


JOHN  MORLAND  83 

her  card ;  all  of  which  he  did  very  gravely  and  wondering 
within  himself  what  Kitty  could  be  about. 

Harold  Montclair  seemed  to  understand  what  she  was 
about  very  well.  He  did  not  believe  Morland  had  ever 
asked  for  a  dance.  To  him,  as  to  Kitty,  he  seemed  quite 
too  old  to  be  thinking  of  dances  with  pretty  young  girls. 
He  believed  Kitty  was  only  administering  another  snub, 
and  had  used  the  freedom  she  felt  with  an  old  family 
friend  in  asking  Morland  to  write  his  name  on  her  card. 
He  was  not  suffering  that  degree  of  embarrassment  in 
Morland 's  presence  that  might  have  been  expected  had 
he  known  who  had  put  him  to  flight  on  the  night  of  the 
elopement;  but  he  was  sure  the  Major  could  not  but 
understand  that  a  snub  was  intended,  and  that  was 
enough  to  put  the  young  coxcomb  sadly  out  of  counte 
nance  in  the  presence  of  one  of  Washington's  most 
dignified  and  distinguished  young  Senators.  He  stam 
mered  some  kind  of  formal  regrets  and  extricated 
himself  from  Kitty's  sharp  little  claws  as  soon  as  pos 
sible,  mentally  registering  a  vow  never  to  put  himself 
in  her  power  again. 

Kitty's  eyes  were  dancing  at  the  success  of  her  little 
scheme  to  discomfit  Montclair  without  apparent  intention , 
and  Morland  saw  that  it  was  not  Montclair  she  had  been 
looking  for.  He  was  grateful  for  that;  he  would  have 
been  sincerely  troubled  if  she  had  seemed  to  be  still 
deeply  interested  in  him,  but  he  could  not  refrain  from 
wondering  who  it  could  be  if  it  were  not  Montclair,  since 
Kitty's  glances  still  continued  at  intervals  to  rove  over 
the  assembly  with  the  eager  look  of  one  hoping  for  a  long- 
delayed  arrival. 

But  the  orchestra  of  eight  pieces  —  so  large  for  that 


84  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

time  as  to  be  recorded  in  the  annals  of  the  day  —  had  been 
for  some  minutes  tuning  up,  and  now  the  dancing  began, 
and  Morland  saw  no  more  of  Kitty  until  the  time  for  his 
own  dance.  That  is,  he  saw  no  more  of  her  than  did 
many  others  who  could  not  take  their  eyes  from  her  as 
she  floated  up  and  down  the  long  ball-room,  for  she  was 
without  doubt,  as  Montclair  had  said,  the  most  beautiful 
creature  there,  and  by  far  and  away  the  most  graceful 
dancer,  and,  flushed  with  the  natural  joy  a  young  girl 
feels  in  her  triumphs  at  her  first  ball  and  at  the  adulation 
showered  upon  her,  she  was  like  a  bit  of  incarnate  flame: 
brilliant,  scintillating,  glowing,  and  drawing  all  eyes  as 
the  candle  draws  the  moth. 

Morland  had  taken  Mrs.  McCabe  across  the  room  to  join 
the  little  coterie  surrounding  Mrs.  Madison,  by  whom 
she  was  welcomed  with  characteristic  vivacity: 

"I  've  been  telling  these  old  beaux  of  mine,  Mrs. 
McCabe,  to  please  recall  the  prophecy  I  made  four  years 
ago  when  I  crowned  your  beautiful  daughter  at  Brown's. 
I  said  then  she  would  be  a  society  queen  some  day,  with 
all  the  dandies  in  Washington  dancing  attendance  on 
her.  I  'm  quite  proud  of  myself  as  Sibyl,  for  she  is  really 
the  most  radiant  creature  I  ever  beheld.  I  think  I  shall 
add  another  stanza  to  Mr.  Agg's  clever  verses: 

"Wend  you  to  the  ball  to-night? 

There   you  '11    find    both    wise    and    witty, 
Lovely  maidens  sweet  and  bright, 
Yet  none  can  quite  compare  with  Kitty." 

Part  of  the  applause  from  Mrs.  Madison's  little  circle 
was  intended  for  the  impromptu  performance,  but  part 
of  it,  also,  was  for  the  subject  of  her  verse;  all  of  which 


JOHN  MORLAND  85 

kindliness  naturally  put  Mrs.  McCabe  much  at  her  ease 
and  greatly  pleased  Morland. 

He  soon  found  that  Mrs.  McCabe  required  very  little 
attention  from  him,  for  she  was  immediately  the  centre  of 
a  little  circle  of  her  own,  with  Clay  and  Benton  as  leading- 
figures  in  it;  and  even  Randolph  of  Roanoke,  rather 
inclined  to  be  churlish  with  women  as  a  rule,  and  Secre 
tary  Calhoun,  who  could  be  most  charming  socially  when 
he  felt  like  it,  stopping  for  a  moment  to  pay  her  their 
respects.  Morland  was  at  liberty  to  wander  from  one 
group  to  another,  as  most  of  the  men  were  doing,  or  to 
stay  where  he  was  and  devote  himself  to  watching  Kitty 
and  trying  to  decide  whether  he  should  claim  that  dance 
or  not,  since  it  was  evidently  given  to  him  merely  to  avoid 
giving  it  to  Montclair. 

He  had  not  come  to  any  decision  when  the  time  for  his 
dance  arrived,  and  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but 
to  go  and  claim  his  partner. 

"Kitty,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  had  her  to  himself,  "I 
understood  how  you  came  to  give  me  this  dance.  I  'm 
glad  you  would  not  dance  with  that  fellow,  but  I  'm  not 
going  to  hold  you  to  your  dance  with  me  if  you  would 
rather  have  it  with  some  one  else." 

Kitty  looked  up  at  him  a  little  piqued.  She  had 
liked  very  well  to  appear  on  the  floor  with  the  distin 
guished  Senator  Morland,  since  the  man  for  whom 
she  had  been  reserving  that  dance  had  not  made  his 
appearance.  She  knew  very  well  that  she  would  be  the 
envy  of  half  the  society  belles  of  Washington  and  of 
all  their  mothers.  She  answered  him,  therefore,  a  little 
pettishly : 

"Oh,  of  course  if  you  do  not  care  for  the  dance  I  will 


86  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

excuse  you,  though  I  'm  sorry  you  did  not  let  me  know 
earlier  when  I  might  have  filled  your  place." 

Morland  recognized  Kitty's  pettishness,  and  only 
smiled  at  it: 

"It 's  not  too  late,  I  fancy,"  he  said.  "  I  will  take  you 
over  to  your  mother,  and  the  minute  the  beaux  discover 
you  are  disengaged  they  will  be  swarming  around  you 
like  bees  about  a  flower." 

"A  wallflower!"  retorted  Kitty  still  pettishly,  "and  at 
my  first  ball!  No,  Major  Morland,  I  think  I  '11  hold  you  to 
your  engagement,  much  as  you  might  like  to  be  released 
from  it.  It  is  too  much  to  ask  of  me  to  submit  to  the 
mortification  of  being  handed  over  to  the  chaperons, 
like  that  unattractive  Miss  Dayton!" 

Morland  thought  he  understood  why  Kitty  was  so 
especially  scornful  of  Miss  Dayton:  Montclair  had 
danced  with  her  several  times,  and  he  was  sorry  to  see 
that  Kitty  cared.  But  he  only  said  formally: 

"Very  well,  then,  I  'm  delighted,  of  course." 

Kitty  had  had  a  few  misgivings  as  to  how  she  and 
Morland  would  manage  their  steps.  She  had  never  seen 
him  dance,  and  was  quite  sure  he  knew  little  or  nothing 
about  it.  She  disliked  an  awkward  partner,  for  she  knew 
she  could  not  appear  to  advantage  with  one,  and  must  in 
a  measure  share  his  awkwardness,  but  she  amiably 
decided  she  would  do  her  best  to  manage  him  and  it 
was  honour  enough  to  be  "standing  up"  with  Major 
Morland  since  he  had  danced  with  no  one  else  that 
evening. 

But  to  Kitty's  amazement  he  needed  no  manage 
ment.  She  had  had  no  partner  whose  step  suited  hers 
so  perfectly.  Kitty  loved  the  dance  for  its  own  sake, 


JOHN  MORLAND  87 

and  to  be  whirling  through  the  waltz,  as  one  of  the  rhyme 
sters  of  the  day  described  it,  "like  tops  a-spinning"  sent 
her  spirits  to  the  highest  point  of  exhilaration. 

"It  was  the  very  best  dance  of  the  evening!"  she 
exclaimed  fervently,  as  the  music  stopped  and  Morland 
offered  her  his  arm  for  a  promenade  around  the  ball 
room.  And  then,  without  giving  him  a  chance  to  more 
than  bow  his  thanks,  she  asked  suddenly: 

"Major,  can  you  tell  me  what  that  uniform  means 
that  has  just  passed  us?" 

Morland  turned  to  look. 

"It  means  that  the  wearer  of  it  is  a  lieutenant  in  the 
navy,"  he  answered. 

"And  are  the  navy  officers  as  well  received  in  society 
as  the  army  officers?" 

"Quite.  I  believe  the  ladies  affect  them  even  more, 
if  possible." 

"And  are  all  the  navy  officers  in  Washington  invited 
to  a  ball  like  this?" 

"Not  necessarily  all,  if  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Adams  does  not 
happen  to  know  them;  though  I  fancy  most  of  them  on 
duty  in  Washington  just  now  are  here  to-night.  But 
why  are  you  so  interested  in  the  navy,  Kitty?  Do  you 
think  their  uniforms  handsomer  than  the  army?  or  do 
you  like  the  peculiar  shade  of  bronze  they  get  on  their 
cheeks,  or  the  sea-stagger  they  affect  when  they  walk  on 
land?" 

They  had  been  idle  questions  of  his,  but  to  his  amaze 
ment  Kitty  coloured  and  hesitated  as  she  answered : 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  I  'm  specially  interested, but  I  have 
never  noticed  them  much  until  to-night." 

And  then,  with  evident  relief: 


88      THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

"  Here  comes  Mr.  Laidley  to  take  me  down  to  supper, 
and  he  's  just  in  time,  for  I  'm  hungry  as  a  bear.  "Are 
you  going  to  take  mother  down,  Major,  or  shall  we  go 
and  get  her?" 

"  Oh,  of  course  Grandpa  Morland  is  going  to  take  her 
down,"  handing  Kitty  over  to  young  Laidley,  and  laugh 
ing  good-humouredly  at  the  freedom  with  which  she  had 
shoved  her  chaperon  off  on  him,  and  not  wholly  displeased 
with  the  liberties  she  took  with  him. 

Kitty  saw  she  was  understood,  but  she  was  not 
abashed. 

"You're  a  dear!"  she  murmured,  with  dancing  eyes, 
"and  didn't  we  have  a  grand  waltzl" 


CHAPTER  VII 

FOR  WHOM  KITTY  WAS  WAITING 

I  WONDER  who  Kitty  was  saving  that  dance  for," 
mused  Morland,  with  more  regard  for  italics  than  for 
grammar,  and  with  a  perplexed  line  between  his  eyes. 

He  had  seen  Mrs.  McCabe  and  Kitty  to  their  carriage, 
and  now  was  standing  outside  in  the  cool  night  air  for  a 
few  minutes  waiting  until  General  Jackson  should  be 
through  with  his  good-byes  to  the  last  belated  guests  and 
be  ready  to  accompany  him  to  Gadsby's.  He  was  startled 
by  a  voice  almost  in  his  ear;  he  had  heard  no  step,  but 
he  turned  to  find  at  his  elbow  a  figure  that  he  easily 
recognized  even  in  the  dim  light. 

"I  did  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Montclair,"  he  said 
frigidly. 

"  I  said  that  our  friend  Kitty  was  in  fine  feather  to-night, 
and  looking  very  beautiful,"  repeated  Montclair  in  a  tone 
of  familiarity  that  struck  unpleasantly  on  Morland's 
ear.  It  grated  sufficiently  that  the  young  coxcomb 
should  pretend  to  be  on  such  easy  terms  with  himself, 
but  the  familiar  way  in  which  he  spoke  of  Kitty  was  not 
to  be  borne.  He  despised  the  fellow,  yet  in  a  more 
guarded  moment  he  would  not  have  deemed  it  prudent 
to  let  him  know  that  he  was  acquainted  with  his  youthful 
intrigue  with  Kitty.  Now,  under  the  irritation  of  his 
impertinence,  he  blurted  out: 

"I  forbid  you  to  speak  that  young  lady's  name  in  my 

89 


90  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

presence,  sir.  I  am  perfectly  aware  that,  but  for  a  provi 
dential  interference,  three  years  ago,  you  would  have 
ruined  her  life  and  broken  her  mother's  heart." 

Montclair  was  aghast.  He  had  believed  up  to  this 
time  that  no  one  but  Kitty  and  her  parents  knew  of  the 
attempted  elopement,  and  that  only  Kitty  knew  with 
whom  it  was  attempted.  He  had  believed  this  because 
he  had  never  heard  a  breath  of  it  from  any  one,  and  he 
was  quite  sure  that  had  McCabe  known  his  part  in 
it  he  would  have  called  him  to  account  at  once.  Now  it 
flashed  over  him  that  it  was  not  Tim  McCabe,  as  he 
had  always  supposed,  but  Major  Morland,  that  had 
frustrated  his  designs  and  put  him  so  ignominiously  to 
flight.  Well,  he  owed  the  Major  something  for  that,  and 
he  would  certainly  pay  it;  now  he  could  think  of  nothing 
better  to  do  or  say  than  to  mumble  "Good-night,  sir," 
turn  on  his  heel  and  walk  away,  leaving  Morland  in  a 
state  of  fuming  indignation,  almost  as  much  with  his  own 
stupidity  as  with  Montclair's  insolence. 

But  though  Morland  was  much  perplexed  as  to  why 
Kitty  should  be  so  anxiously  looking  for  some  one  all 
the  evening  who  never  came,  it  was  a  matter  that  admitted 
of  a  very  simple  explanation  if  he  had  but  known  the 
circumstances  and  remembered  Kitty's  ardent  nature. 

Kitty  was  still  a  pupil  at  Miss  English's  school,  although 
it  was  an  almost  unheard-of  thing,  at  that  day,  for  a  girl 
to  remain  in  school  until  she  was  nearly  nineteen.  That 
Kitty  had  remained  there  so  long  was  due  to  no  unusual 
stupidity  on  her  part,  but  to  the  fact  that  her  mother  did 
not  dare  bring  her  home  to  the  tavern  surroundings. 
She  was,  in  fact,  rather  quicker  than  the  average  pupil, 
and  Miss  English  had  found  herself  obliged  to  plan 


JOHN  MORLAND  91 

extra  courses  for  her  in  literature,  history,  French,  and 
music  to  keep  her  employed.  Kitty  was  in  a  fair  way 
to  become  a  thoroughly  accomplished  young  lady,  and 
in  spite  of  her  mischievous  pranks,  which  she  could  no 
more  resist  perpetrating  than  she  could  stop  breathing, 
and  which  were  regularly  found  out  and  punished,  she 
was  withal  of  so  sweet  and  affectionate  a  nature  that 
she  had  greatly  endeared  herself  to  Miss  English  and  her 
teachers.  She  had  now  arrived  at  the  dignity  of  being 
regarded  as  a  "parlour  boarder,"  though  under  the 
strictest  surveillance,  as  every  one  must  be  in  Miss  English's 
house,  and  as  Miss  English  had  every  reason  to  believe 
Kitty  still  deserved  to  be.  That  she  was  to  be  permitted 
to  attend  Mrs.  Adams's  ball  was  due  to  a  special  request 
to  Miss  English  from  General  Jackson  himself,  who 
greatly  desired  both  his  little  pet  and  her  mother  to  share 
in  his  honours.  She  was  to  go  home,  and  go  with  her 
mother  to  the  ball,  and  return  with  her  and  spend  the 
night  at  home. 

As  a  result  of  this  arrangement,  at  half-past  three  o'clock 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  ball  Kitty,  followed  by  a  stout, 
but  comely  negress,  was  slowly  walking  up  Pennsylvania 
Avenue  toward  McCabe's  Tavern,  on  the  slopes  of 
Capitol  Hill.  None  of  Miss  English's  young  ladies 
was  ever  permitted  to  walk  on  the  streets  unattended, 
but  it  happened  to  be  at  an  hour  when  the  teachers  who 
could  be  spared  for  that  duty  were  conducting  the  daily 
procession  of  pupils  about  the  quieter  streets  of  Washing 
ton,  and  there  was  no  one  to  attend  Kitty  but  black 
Dinah,  arrayed  in  her  spotless  uniform  of  blue  with 
white  facings  and  the  snowiest  of  turbans.  Black  Dinah's 
position  in  the  school  was  that  of  official  spy.  It  was 


92  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

her  duty  to  report  any  irregularity  or  any  breach  of  de 
corum  she  might  observe  among  the  young  ladies,  and 
she  was  usually  very  faithful  to  Miss  English.  But  she 
was  not  absolutely  impeccable,  and  Kitty  had  more  than 
once  won  her  over  by  bribes  of  fruit  and  sweetmeats  taken 
from  those  very  baskets  that  Kitty  had  been  discovered 
letting  down  from  her  window  to  be  filled  by  some  ardent 
lover  below  and  drawn  up  to  be  secretly  shared  with  her 
less  fortunate  schoolmates  who  were  loverless. 

Now,  Black  Dinah  was  portly  and  must  needs  walk  very 
slowly;  also,  owing  to  Kitty's  blandishments  and,  per 
haps,  to  a  sneaking  desire  on  her  own  part  to  see  the  gay 
thoroughfare  Dinah  was  permitting  Kitty  to  walk  on 
the  Avenue  when  a  teacher  or  a  sterner  guardian  would 
have  taken  her  by  quieter  streets.  On  two  such  apparently 
insignificant  accidents  did  Kitty's  fate  hang.  For,  if  she 
had  not  been  on  the  Avenue,  she  would  not  have  been  in 
the  way  to  meet  the  handsome  young  naval  officer  galloping 
gaily  down  it,  or,  if  her  companion  had  been  able  to  walk 
faster,  Kitty  would  have  been  at  home  before  Lieutenant 
Sutherland  turned  on  to  the  Avenue  from  the  quiet  street 
leading  to  the  navy  yard. 

Sauntering  slowly  along,  trying  to  keep  her  pace  down 
to  the  tortoise-like  one  of  Dinah,  puffing  respectfully  a 
few  feet  behind  her,  and  amusing  herself  by  watching 
the  equipages  and  the  riders  passing  on  the  street,  her 
eyes  lighted  on  an  unusually  attractive  figure  —  a  hand 
some  young  officer  riding  a  spirited  horse.  At  the  same 
moment  his  eye  fell  on  Kitty,  and  he  knew  that  though  he 
had  been  in  Washington  a  week  he  had  not  yet  seen  any 
thing  so  bewitching  as  Kitty's  glowing  cheeks  and  spark 
ling  eyes  and  bright  chestnut  curls  under  her  little  fur 


JOHN  MORLAND  93 

cap.  He  half  reined  up  his  horse  to  stop  and  look,  but 
remembering  himself  rode  on.  Kitty  glanced  over  her 
shoulder  and  met  his  backward  glance.  He  turned  his 
horse  and  passed  Kitty  from  behind,  who  vouchsafed 
him  only  a  glimpse  of  a  rosy  ear.  A  half-block  further 
on  he  turned  again  and  rode  down  to  meet  her.  This 
time  she  looked  up  with  a  half-smile,  as  he  passed  and  he 
smiled  broadly.  Kitty  no  longer  hurried  Dinah,  but  her 
own  step  grew  sensibly  slower.  She  would  not  turn  to 
look  back  again,  but  very  soon  she  heard  his  horse's 
hoofs  in  a  swift  gallop  behind  her  —  she  could  already 
distinguish  their  sound  from  other  horses  on  the  Avenue. 
Again  he  passed  her  and  again  he  turned  his  horse  to  meet 
her.  This  time  he  boldly  lifted  his  hat,  and  Kitty  bowed 
in  return,  and  the  crisp  January  air  could  not  entirely 
account  for  the  sudden  roses  that  flamed  in  her  cheeks, 
nor  for  the  added  brilliance  of  her  glowing  eyes. 

"Who  was  dat  genelman,  honey?"  inquired  Dinah, 
who  because  of  Kitty's  very  lingering  steps  was  now  close 
at  her  ear. 

"Oh,  one  of  my  friends,"  returned  Kitty  lightly, 
thinking  it  no  harm  to  swerve  from  the  truth  in  talking 
to  a  darky. 

"He  'm  shore  nuff  struck  on  yer  purty  face,"  Dinah 
muttered,  and  looking  back  at  the  young  officer  who  had 
again  turned  and  was  coming  toward  them,  she  shook  her 
head  at  him.  He  understood -it  as  a  danger  signal  and 
so,  this  time,  he  did  not  pass  Kitty,  but  kept  close  in  the 
rear,  determined  to  follow  her  and  find  out  where  she 
lived. 

With  the  consciousness  of  his  eyes  upon  her  it  was 
difficult  to  keep  all  constraint  out  of  her  usually  graceful 


94      THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

walk.  Kitty  began  to  grow  very  uncomfortable,  and 
again  hurried  Dinah  into  a  pace  that  set  her  gasping  for 
breath  as  they  turned  from  the  Avenue  into  a  side  street 
leading  to  her  home.  Still  the  horse's  hoofs  followed, 
but  she  did  not  look  back  until  she  reached  the  very  door 
of  the  house.  Then  she  turned,  and  in  a  flash  the  officer's 
hat  was  off  and  he  was  bending  low  over  the  pommel  of 
his  saddle.  Kitty  waved  her  hand  in  response  and  flung 
him  a  radiant  smile  as  she  disappeared  through  the  open 
door. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DINAH  IS  FAITHLESS 

KITTY  had  thought  the  Lieutenant  would  certainly 
be  at  the  ball,  and  she  was  quite  determined  to 
keep  at  least  one  dance  open  for  him,  for  she  was  sure  he 
would  find  some  means  of  procuring  an  introduction  to 
her;  and  it  had  been  so  keen  a  disappointment  to  her  not 
to  see  him  there  that  it  had  quite  tempered  the  triumphs 
of  the  evening  for  her.  She  had  not  recognized  his  rank, 
for  she  was  not  very  familiar  with  the  uniforms  of  the 
navy,  but  she  had  recognized  that  the  officer  passing  her 
in  her  promenade  with  Major  Morland  was  wearing  one 
exactly  like  the  one  worn  by  the  young  officer  on  horse 
back  who  had  followed  her  that  afternoon,  which 
accounted  for  her  eager  questioning  of  Morland. 

On  the  evening  after  the  ball  Kitty  was  back  in  her  old 
place  at  Miss  English's.  It  was  the  recreation  hour 
immediately  following  dinner,  and  most  of  the  girls  were 
in  the  study  hall  listening  to  Kitty's  recital  of  the  splendours 
of  Mrs.  Adams's  ball,  when  Miss  English  herself  appeared, 
a  signal  for  instantaneous  silence  on  the  part  of  the  girls 
who  had  been  questioning  Kitty,  but  not  for  the  audacious 
Kitty  herself.  Her  back  was  half-turned  to  the  door  by 
which  Miss  English  had  entered,  and  so  she  could  easily 
be  supposed  not  to  have  seen  her.  But  not  one  of  the 
girls  for  a  moment  supposed  it,  since  they  could  plainly 
see  the  mischievous  twinkle  in  Kitty's  eye. 

95 


96  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"And  girls,"  in  her  clear  musical  tones  that  had  an 
unusual  carrying  quality,  and  with  more  italics  than 
Kitty  ordinarily  indulged  in,  "I  was  the  only  one  he 
danced  with.  The  society  belles  were  all  madly  jealous, 
but  I  know  he  only  danced  with  me  to  inquire  after  Miss 
English.  You  know  he  worships  her 

Here  she  broke  off  abruptly  and  in  well-simulated 
confusion,  as  having  just  discovered  Miss  English,  curtsey 
ing  low  and  making  many  humble  apologies. 

Miss  English  took  no  notice  of  the  apologies.  She 
could  see  from  the  suppressed  smiles  of  the  girls  that  it 
was  only  another  piece  of  Kitty's  mischief,  and  to  ignore 
it  was  the  way  to  make  it  most  ineffective. 

"Kitty,"  she  said  abruptly,  "do  you  know  a  Lieutenant 
Sutherland?" 

Kitty's  first  impulse  was  to  say  "  No,  ma'am,"  and  her 
rosy  lips  had  half  formed  the  "No"  when  a  sudden  idea 
flashed  into  her  quick  brain.  Doubtless  that  was  the  name 
of  the  handsome  officer  who  had  followed  her  the  day 
before.  Doubtless  also  he  had  come  to  call,  and  should 
she  say  "no"  she  would  not  only  lose  her  chance  of  ever 
knowing  him,  but,  what  was  worse,  she  would  disgrace 
him,  as  seeking  to  call  on  a  young  lady  to  whom  he  had 
no  proper  introduction.  Kitty  was  not  at  all  indignant 
with  him  for  being  so  presumptuous.  She  was  charmed 
with  his  audacity;  it  exactly  suited  her  schoolgirl  ideas 
of  romance  and  her  Irish  love  of  boldness. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  she  answered,  after  a  scarcely  per 
ceptible  moment  of  hesitation,  but  she  could  not  prevent 
a  wave  of  colour  sweeping  her  cheeks  as  she  spoke. 

Miss  English  was  suspicious  of  that  sudden  rush  of 
colour,  but  Kitty,  as  parlour  boarder,  had  certain  privileges. 


JOHN  MORLAND  97 

"Very  well,  then,"  she  said,  "he  has  never  called  here 
before,  and  I  do  not  know  him,  but  he  is  in  the  parlour, 
and  if  you  say  it  is  all  right  you  may  go  down  and 
see  him." 

For  a  few  minutes  Kitty  was  a  prey  to  the  most  delight 
ful  tremors  of  anticipation,  such  as  her  soul  loved. 
Here  was  a  real  adventure ;  and  how  bold  and  how  ardent 
must  the  Lieutenant  be  to  have  followed  her  up  so  quickly. 
He  was  a  hero  after  her  own  heart.  Her  ardent  and  mer 
curial  temper  was  all  aflame.  None  the  less  did  she 
determine  that  the  Lieutenant,  for  the  first  few  moments, 
at  least,  should  find  her  all  ice. 

It  was  a  regulation  of  Miss  English's  school  that  her 
young  ladies  should  appear  at  the  five-o'clock  dinner 
fully  dressed  for  the  evening,  and  therefore,  save  for  a 
fleeting  glance  into  the  glass  to  see  that  her  curls  were 
in  order,  Kitty  had  to  pay  no  attention  to  her  toilet,  and 
descended  to  the  parlour  immediately.  In  a  mirror 
that  commanded,  through  the  open  doorway,  a  view  of 
the  grand  staircase,  the  Lieutenant  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  slowly  descending  the  stairs,  her  arms  extended  above 
her  head,  lightly  shaking  her  hands  and  fingers.  The 
Lieutenant  had  sisters  and  he  smiled,  for  he  understood 
the  trick  very  well.  It  was  a  period  when  white  hands 
were  much  prized,  and  it  was  a  universal  practice  with  the 
belles  of  the  day  to  descend  the  staircase  as  Kitty  was 
descending  it,  when  about  to  meet  some  one  on  whom 
they  specially  desired  to  make  an  impression.  The  Lieu 
tenant  understood  that  the  blood  flowing  down  from  the 
uplifted  hands  was  supposed  to  leave  them,  for  a  time  at 
least,  in  that  greatly  to  be  desired  state  of  supreme 
whiteness. 


98  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Kitty  was  not  aware  that  the  mirror  commanded  her 
descent  of  the  staircase,  and  so  she  did  not  understand 
the  Lieutenant's  only  half-suppressed  smile  of  amusement 
struggling  for  mastery  with  a  very  commendable  sense  of 
embarrassment  as  he  made  his  low  bow.  It  angered  her 
for  a  moment,  for  she  thought  the  Lieutenant  was  regard 
ing  her  as  too  willing,  and  anger  lent  stateliness  to  her 
curtsey  and  hauteur  to  her  voice. 

"To  what  am  I  indebted  for  the  honour  of  this  visit, 
sir  ?"  she  demanded  icily,  but  in  a  tone  low  enough  not  to 
be  overheard  should  there  be  spies  near  by.  The  Lieu 
tenant  was  brought  to  his  senses  at  once  and  was  all 
gravity. 

"You  must  know,  Miss  McCabe,  that  having  once 
seen  you  I  could  no  more  keep  away  than  the  moth  from 
the  star,"  he  said  ardently. 

His  answer  pleased  Kitty  as  exactly  proper  to  the  role 
she  had  assigned  him  in  her  thoughts.  In  a  slightly 
mollified  tone  she  went  on: 

"And  I  cannot  understand  how  you  knew  my  name, 
or  where  I  was  to  be  found." 

"I  would  have  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  discover 
both,"  returned  the  Lieutenant.  "But  when  I  followed 
you  home  yesterday  I  knew  at  once  you  were  the  beautiful 
Kitty  McCabe  of  whose  charms  I  have  been  hearing  con 
stantly  ever  since  my  arrival  in  Washington  a  week  ago. 
I  called  on  your  father  this  afternoon,  and  having  satisfied 
him  that  I  was  in  every  way  a  proper  acquaintance  for  his 
daughter  was  directed  here." 

Kitty  hardly  knew  whether  to  be  more  pleased  or 
vexed.  It  was  all  very  well  for  her  to  be  willing  and 
ready  to  enter  into  a  little  flirtation  with  the  handsome 


JOHN  MORLAND  99 

officer,  but  she  would  have  liked  her  father  to  be  a  little 
more  difficult.  She  knew  that  the  fathers  of  the  Benton 
girls  or  the  Lees  or  Calhouns  would  not  so  easily  have 
granted  a  perfect  stranger's  request  to  call  upon  their 
daughters ;  and  she  recognized  at  once  that  the  Lieutenant 
had  made  an  easy  conquest  of  her  father  through  his 
vanity,  and  was  expecting  to  make  as  easy  a  conquest  of 
the  daughter  by  the  same  means.  She  did  not  have 
it  in  her  heart  to  snub  him  entirely,  and  so  put  an  end  to 
this  pretty  little  romance,  but  she  should  punish  him  a 
little  for  his  too  great  confidence. 

"I  see,  sir,"  she  said  with  light  irony,  "you  are  one  of 
those  very  proper  young  men  who  believe,  in  order  to 
recommend  themselves  to  the  daughters,  it  is  only  neces 
sary  to  recommend  themselves  to  the  fathers;  and  who 
think  so  well  of  themselves  that  they  are  as  sure  of  pleasing 
the  one  as  the  other." 

Kitty  well  knew  that  to  the  ordinary  gay  Lothario 
nothing  could  be  more  galling  than  to  be  considered 
"proper."  The  Lieutenant  was  not  different  from  his 
kind.  He  was  silent  a  moment  while  the  dull  red  of 
anger  slowly  mounted  to  his  temples ;  then  he  murmured : 

"Miss  McCabe  has  many  weapons.  Her  tongue  can 
wound  as  cruelly  as  her  eyes." 

"But  neither  fatally,"  laughed  Kitty,  who  at  the  signs 
of  the  Lieutenant's  discomfiture  had  quickly  relented. 
"  And  to  show  you  that  I  am  not  really  unkind,  will  you  be 
seated,  sir?" 

She  led  the  way  as  she  spoke  to  the  corner  of  the  room 
most  remote  from  the  folding  doors  which  opened  back 
ward  into  a  second  parlour.  A  slight  rustle  had  assured 
her  quick  ears  that  Aunt  Dinah  had  entered  the  second 


100  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

parlour  and  was  at  this  moment  taking  her  seat  on  the 
stool  always  standing  behind  one  of  the  folding  doors 
ready  for  her  occupancy.  The  Lieutenant  had  not 
heard  the  rustle  and  knew  nothing  of  the  custom  at  Miss 
English's  of  having  Aunt  Dinah  always  on  the  watch 
when  young  men  were  in  the  parlour,  and  his  spirits  rose 
with  Kitty's  return  to  kindness.  He  was  a  Southerner, 
as  Kitty  had  at  once  guessed  from  his  soft  inflections  and 
his  headlong  ardour,  and  he  began  at  once  with  all  his 
native  audacity  and  with  more  assurance  than  he  had 
yet  felt. 

"Ah,  Miss  McCabe,  from  the  moment  when  you  smiled 
on  me  so  kindly  yesterday  afternoon  I  have  been  sure 
you  were  no  less  amiable  than  you  were  beautiful;  but 
had  I  been  assured  of  only  unkindness  and  cruelty  at  your 
hands  I  yet  could  not  have  resisted  seeking  you.  I  throw 
myself  on  your  mercy,  for  I  am  sure  you  are  too  generous 
to  take  advantage  of  my  unarmed  and  defenseless  state." 

This  was  exactly  the  kind  of  speech  Kitty  was  accus 
tomed  to  and  knew  how  to  meet.  She  was  not  going  to 
allow  him  to  go  too  far,  with  Aunt  Dinah  on  watch  behind 
the  door,  but  she  delighted  in  all  games  of  skill  and,  most 
of  all,  in  that  game  of  hearts  which  consisted  in  adroitly 
leading  on  only  to  repulse  or  keep  at  a  distance  with  still 
greater  adroitness.  She  did  not  for  a  moment  suppose 
the  Lieutenant  to  be  any  more  serious  than  she  herself 
was,  but  since  her  youthful  affair  with  Montclair  she  had 
never  seen  any  one  who  had  attracted  her  so  powerfully. 

She  had  not  quite  counted  on  the  effect  of  that  attraction 
in  undermining  her  own  defenses.  But  as  the  evening 
went  on  and  the  Lieutenant  grew  more  ardent,  she  found 
it  harder  and  harder  to  keep  him  within  bounds,  with  her 


JOHN  MORLAND  101 

heart  beating  faster  and  her  cheeks  burning  and  her 
eyes  glowing  in  response  to  his  tender  speeches.  She 
forgot,  at  times,  that  Aunt  Dinah  was  listening,  but  there 
came  a  moment  when  she  was  sure  he  was  on  the  point 
of  throwing  himself  upon  his  knees  and  making  a  formal 
declaration.  Ready  as  she  was  by  this  time  to  hear  it, 
indeed,  ardently  longing  for  it,  she  must  stop  it;  she  must 
tell  him  about  Aunt  Dinah.  But  as  the  words  of  warning 
were  on  the  very  tip  of  her  tongue  there  came  an  unmis 
takable  sound  from  behind  the  folding  door. 

"What  is  that!"  exclaimed  the  Lieutenant,  aghast,  and 
springing  to  his  feet  in  his  excitement. 

The  exaggerated  dismay  depicted  on  the  Lieutenant's 
countenance  at  such  a  rude  interruption  of  his  tender 
avowals,  together  with  the  regularity  and  increasing 
violence  of  the  sounds  themselves,  were  too  much  for 
Kitty's  mirth-loving  nature  and  she  could  not  reply,  she 
was  in  such  silent  convulsions  of  suppressed  laughter. 
The  Lieutenant  was  rapidly  growing  angry;  this  was 
no  time  for  mirth,  nor,  indeed,  did  Kitty  herself  think  so; 
but  she  was  only  a  giggling  school-girl  and  must  needs 
laugh  at  the  most  inopportune  moment. 

"Aunt  Dinah  has  gone  to  sleep,"  she  managed  to 
gasp  at  last,  and  the  Lieutenant  looking  still  more  mysti 
fied,  she  controlled  her  laughter  and  explained  soberly 
enough  that  Aunt  Dinah  was  always  stationed  behind 
the  door  when  young  gentlemen  were  present,  a  fact  that 
habitual  callers  at  the  house  knew  and  regulated  their 
words  and  actions  accordingly.  She  had  always  sus 
pected,  she  said,  that  Aunt  Dinah  indulged  herself  in 
little  naps  in  her  dark  corner,  but  she  had  never  had  any 
audible  proof  of  it  before. 


102    THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

The  Lieutenant  seized  on  only  two  points  in  Kitty's 
rather  long  explanation:  Aunt  Dinah's  presence  no 
doubt  had  accounted  for  Kitty's  keeping  him  at  arm's 
length  so  long,  and  —  Aunt  Dinah  was  no  longer  to  be 
feared.  Nevertheless  she  might  awake  at  any  moment  — 
no  time  was  to  be  lost.  He  dropped  on  one  knee  and 
seized  Kitty's  hand,  and,  blushing  and  trembling  between 
fear  and  delight,  Kitty  listened  to  a  formal  declaration 
from  the  ardent  Southerner  more  impassioned  than  she 
had  yet  heard  from  any  youthful  lover. 

To  take  her  heart  by  storm  was  the  way  to  win  Kitty, 
and  by  the  time  the  soothing  strains  from  behind  the  door 
had  ceased,  and  Kitty  and  the  Lieutenant  were  warned 
by  the  silence  that  Aunt  Dinah  was  once  more  on  guard, 
the  mischief  was  done:  Kitty  and  Lieutenant  Sutherland 
were  "engaged,"  and  Kitty's  inflammable  heart  was  for 
the  time  at  least  as  wildly  in  love  as  the  Southerner's. 

So  great  an  evil  will  the  slightest  swerving  from  fidelity 
often  accomplish!  For  so  much  of  Kitty's  history  and 
Kitty's  fate  was  Aunt  Dinah's  dropping  to  sleep  at  her 
post  for  not  longer  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  responsible ! 


"KITTY  LISTENED  TO  A  FORMAL  DECLARATION   FROM  THE  ARDENT 

SOUTHERNER  MORE  IMPASSIONED  THAN  SHE  HAD  VET 

HEARD  FROM  ANY  YOUTHFUL  LOVER" 


CHAPTER  IX 

A   TELL-TALE   WORD 

TT  WAS  some  days  after  Mrs.  Adams'  ball  before  Major 
•*•  Morland  found  time  to  call  on  his  old  friends.  On 
asking  for  Mrs.  McCabe,  Tim  himself  ushered  him  into 
her  little  parlour  with  an  air  of  mingled  importance  and 
mystery  that  Morland  did  not  understand. 

But  it  was  quickly  explained.  Kitty  was  seated  by 
her  mother  sewing,  looking  more  domestic  and  demure 
than  he  ever  remembered  seeing  her.  This  in  itself  was  a 
surprise,  for  he  had  understood  that  Kitty  was  still  at  school 
at  Miss  English's.  She  seemed  glad  to  see  him,  but  she 
blushed  and  looked  conscious,  which  was  not  her  usual 
way  of  receiving  his  greetings,  and  which  yet  pleased  him 
greatly. 

Mrs.  McCabe  was  at  a  table  cutting  out  white  goods  and 
giving  directions  to  two  coloured  women  as  to  laces  and 
embroideries.  There  seemed  to  Morland  a  little  embar 
rassment  in  her  manner  also,  but  he  attributed  it  to  the 
rather  unusual  disorder  of  the  room,  and  he  made  some 
light  qftestioning  as  to  whether  she  had  gone  into  the 
dress-making  business.  At  his  speech  Kitty  gathered  up 
her  work  and  slipped  quietly  from  the  room,  and  Mrs. 
McCabe  turned  to  the  two  negresses. 

"Take  your  work  up  to  Miss  Kitty's  room,  Emmeline 
and  Caroline;  she  will  show  you  about  it,"  she  directed. 

Morland  hastened  to  interpose: 

103 


104  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  interfering  with  your  work,  Mrs. 
McCabe.  I  will  come  at  another  time  when  it  is  more 
convenient." 

"Oh,  but  it  is  perfectly  convenient  now,  and  we  are 
delighted  to  see  you,"  Mrs.  McCabe  declared.  "  You  must 
not  think  of  going.  I  am  glad  to  get  this  work  out  of  my 
parlour;  I  did  not  intend  to  have  the  girls  stay  in  here,  and 
Kitty  can  show  them  about  it  quite  as  well  as  I." 

"But  I  want  to  see  Kitty,  too,"  urged  Morland.  "And 
how  does  she  happen  to  be  at  home  from  school  in  the 
middle  of  the  week?" 

By  this  time  the  two  women,  in  spite  of  their  slow  move 
ments,  had  gotten  themselves  and  their  wrork  out  of  the 
room,  and  McCabe,  bursting  with  importance  and 
impatience,  turned  to  his  wife. 

"Will  you  announce  our  news  to  the  Major,  or  shall  I 
Mrs.  McCabe?" 

Mrs.  McCabe  knew  that  her  husband  was  dying  to  do 
it  himself,  and  for  some  reason  she  was  as  full  of  hesitation 
as  he  was  of  eagerness. 

"Oh,  please,  Tim,  you  do  it,"  she  begged,  as  if  he 
needed  urging. 

Tim  waited  for  no  further  permission. 

"Mrs.  McCabe  and  I,"  he  began,  sen tentiously,  "wish 
to  announce  the  approaching  marriage  of  our  daughter 
Kitty  to  Lieutenant  Sutherland  of  the  ship  Argus." 

The  effect  of  his  announcement  upon  the  major  was 
most  gratifying  to  Tim. 

"Kitty!  Kitty  to  be  married!"  he  stammered,  turning 
red  and  white  and  red  again.  "I  cannot  believe  it!" 

"There  is  nothing  remarkable  in  such  a  fact,"  said  Tim, 
a  little  offended  by  Morland's  concluding  words.  "She  is 


JOHN  MORLAND  105 

of  suitable  age  and  not  without  sufficient  charm  to  attract 
a  husband." 

"But  who  is  this  Lieutenant  Sutherland?"  demanded 
Morland,  hardly  attending  to  McCabe 's  words.  "The 
only  Sutherland  I  know  is  a  young  fellow  who  has  not  been 
in  town  more  than  ten  days  or  two  weeks;  surely  that  has 
not  been  long  enough  for  a  courtship." 

"Quite  long  enough  for  the  blind  god  to  send  a  winged 
shaft,"  said  McCabe  pompously.  "I  believe  the  Lieuten 
ant  saw  my  daughter  one  day,  called  on  her  the  next, 
and  they  were  engaged  before  the  evening  was  over." 

At  that  moment  McCabe  was  called  into  his  office,  and 
did  not  see  the  effect  his  words  produced.  His  wife's 
head  was  bent  over  her  work,  her  fingers  that  held  her 
needle  were  trembling  and  her  sweet  face  was  suffused  with 
a  painful  colour.  Morland  was  aghast.  It  seemed  to  him 
inconceivable  that,  however  rash  Kitty  might  have  been, 
her  parents  should  have  allowed  such  precipitancy  in  a 
matter  of  such  vital  importance.  There  was  a  moment  of 
silence  after  McCabe  left  the  room  before  he  could  collect 
himself  sufficiently  to  speak.  The  sensation  he  was  most 
conscious  of  was  anger  toward  Kitty's  father  and  mother 
that  they  could  have  encouraged  her  in,  or  even 
permitted,  such  folly.  The  restraint  he  felt  necessary 
to  put  upon  himself  made  his  manner  seem  unusually 
formal. 

"You  do  not  deny  your  husband's  statement,  madam, 
and  so  I  suppose  it  is  correct?"  he  queried. 

Mrs.  McCabe  bowed. 

"And  you  can  reconcile  it  with  your  ideas  of  what  is 
right  and  proper  to  allow  a  young  girl,  a  rash  and  foolish 
young  girl  such  as  her  best  friends  acknowledge  Kitty  to 


106  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

be,  to  contract  such  a  solemn  alliance  with  an  entire 
stranger  ?  I  had  thought  more  highly  of  you,  madam ! " 

Morland  made  a  movement  as  if  about  to  pick  up  his 
hat  and  go,  for  Mrs.  McCabe  still  sat  with  bent  head  and 
without  replying  to  him.  But  at  his  movement  she  rose 
quickly  from  her  chair,  laid  down  her  work,  and  came 
toward  him. 

"Do  not  go,  Major,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone  of  earnest 
entreaty.  "I  have  wanted  very  much  to  see  you  and  talk 
with  you."  She  took  a  seat  so  near  him  as  to  permit  her 
to  go  on  without  raising  her  voice: 

"You  cannot  think  this  matter  more  rash,  more  pre 
cipitate,  more  ill-advised  than  I  have  thought  it.  Tim  is 
sometimes  as  rash  as  my  little  Kitty.  When  he  told  me 
that  he  had  given  permission  to  a  young  naval  officer,  a 
perfect  stranger,  to  call  upon  Kitty  at  Miss  English's,  I 
was  very  sorry  and  dreaded  what  might  follow.  But  I 
could  not  have  looked  for  any  results  so  quickly  as  they 
came  and  so  like  a  thunderbolt  in  their  manner  of  coming. 
The  next  morning  at  ten  o'clock  Kitty  burst  into  my 
parlour  radiant  with  excitement. 

"'I've  come  home  to  stay,  mother,'  she  exclaimed 
before  she  had  hardly  kissed  me.  'Miss  English  does 
not  know  it;  she  has  only  given  me  permission  to  come 
and  see  you  on  a  very  important  matter.  But  I  want  you 
to  send  her  a  note  right  away  to  tell  her,  and  send  some 
one  for  my  things  —  I  am  going  to  be  married ! ' 

"You  can  imagine  my  consternation  at  such  a  speech. 
I  could  not  understand  it  at  all,  and  Kitty  was  in  such  a 
state  of  excitement  it  was  difficult  to  get  a  straight  story 
from  her.  When  I  at  last  comprehended  that  the  Lieuten 
ant  had  called  the  evening  before,  that  before  the  evening 


JOHN  MORLAND  107 

was  over  he  had  proposed  and  been  accepted,  that  he  was 
coming  that  afternoon  to  get  our  consent,  and  that  Kitty 
had  hurried  off  in  the  morning  to  prepare  the  way  for  him 
and  to  insure  his  success,  I  was  aghast.  I  sent  for  Mr. 
McCabe  to  come  to  my  room  at  once,  but  no  reasoning 
with  Kitty  produced  the  slightest  effect.  She  was  beyond 
the  reach  of  reason.  I  plead  with  her  to  put  the  Lieutenant 
off  until  she  should  know  him  better  and  we  could  have  a 
chance  to  find  out  something  of  his  antecedents.  She  was 
obdurate,  and  I  almost  thought  it  an  occasion  for  taking 
sterner  measures,  for  using  our  authority  to  at  least  post 
pone  the  engagement  for  awhile.  The  Lieutenant  was  com 
ing  to  ask  Mr.  McCabe's  consent,  it  would  be  easy  to  with 
hold  it  for  the  present.  But  at  the  suggestion  Kitty  began 
to  storm  and  rage,  and  even  threatened  to  run  away  again, 
and  her  father  weakened.  I  think  he  had  been  greatly 
prepossessed  in  the  young  man's  favour  the  day  before, 
and  the  fact  that  he  was  lieutenant  on  one  of  the  finest 
ships  in  the  navy  carried  great  weight  with  him.  He 
thought  it  rather  a  flattering  prospect  for  the  daughter 
of  a  tavern-keeper,  he  said,  though  at  that  Kitty  tossed 
her  head,  for  she  has  never  allowed  herself  to  feel  on  any 
lower  level  of  respectability  than  the  daughters  of  the 
senators  and  congressmen  with  whom  she  has  associated, 
and  I  have  encouraged  the  feeling  in  her.  I  have  believed 
it  was  in  itself  a  safeguard,  and  I  have  always  taught  her 
that  neither  money  nor  social  position  were  what  really 
counted,  but  what  we  are  ourselves.  I  was  still  uncon 
vinced,  but  at  last  my  husband  used  an  argument  that 
moved  me.  Kitty's  career  at  Miss  English's  has  been  a 
stormy  one,  and  it  has  only  been  through  Miss  English's 
real  liking  for  her  that  she  has  kept  her  place  there.  We 


108  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

have  often  feared  a  repetition  of  the  Montclair  affair,  but 
we  have  both  always  believed  that  Kitty,  once  safely 
married  to  the  right  kind  of  man,  would  make  a  devoted 
wife  and  an  admirable  woman.  Mr.  McCabe  insisted 
that  here  was  her  chance;  she  was  of  age  and  we  must 
give  it  to  her.  And  so,"  said  Mrs.  McCabe,  looking 
timidly  and  half  imploringly  at  Morland,  "I  gave  a  reluc 
tant  consent,  and  I  am  praying  that  it  may  all  be  for  the 
best,  and  our  little  Kitty  will  settle  down  and  become  all 
that  we  most  ardently  long  for  her  to  be.  She  will  be  mar 
ried  in  three  weeks." 

Morland  had  not  lifted  his  eyes  during  the  long  recital. 
He  sat  with  folded  arms,  his  chin  resting  on  his  breast. 
Nor  did  he  move  from  his  position  for  a  long  minute  after 
Mrs.  McCabe  had  finished  speaking.  At  last  he  lifted  his 
head. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  the  young  man  now  that  you 
have  seen  him;  for  I  take  it  that  of  course  you  have?" 
His  manner  of  making  his  query  was  much  the  manner  of 
a  judge  cross-examining  a  prisoner  at  the  bar,  and  Mrs. 
McCabe  smiled  a  little.  But  she  could  make  allowance 
for  his  dazed  condition. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  see  him  every  day,"  she  answered.  "  He  is 
very  prepossessing.  He  is  good-looking,  seems  honest  and 
amiable,  and  is  without  doubt  extravagantly  in  love  with 
Kitty  —  he  's  a  Southerner,  you  know  —  and  he  treats 
Kitty's  parents  with  a  pretty  deference  that  goes  far  toward 
winning  our  liking." 

"Oh,  of  course  he  's  extravagantly  in  love  with  Kitty," 
said  Morland,  answering  only  one  part  of  Mrs.  McCabe's 
speech.  "Any  one  in  love  with  Kitty  would  always  be 
extravagantly  in  love  with  her,  and  his  being  a  Southerner 


JOHN  MORLAND  109 

insures  his  being  extravagantly  in  love  with  any  one  that 
takes  his  fancy." 

"You  are  a  Southerner  yourself,  are  you  not?"  asked 
Mrs.  McCabe  smilingly. 

"  Hardly.  Not  in  the  sense  that  a  Virginian,  a  Georgian 
or  a  Mississippian  is  a  Southerner.  But,"  and  he  seemed 
at  last  to  rouse  himself  fully  from  his  dazed  condition,  "  I 
suppose  it  is  no  affair  of  mine,  and  if  you  and  Tim  are  satis 
fied  I  ought  to  be.  Tell  Kitty  I  will  come  and  see  her  very 
soon  to  offer  my  congratulations.  I  must  take  a  day  or  two 
to  get  used  to  thinking  of  her  as  some  other  man's  wife." 

The  word  "other"  had  slipped  from  him  inadvertently. 
He  blushed  scarlet,  seized  his  hat,  and  hurried  from  the 
room  with  a  silent  bow  to  Mrs.  McCabe. 


BOOK  II 
THE  WIDOW  SUTHERLAND 


CHAPTER  I 

TROUBLE  BEGINS 

KITTY  was  married,  and  a  more  radiant  bride  Wash 
ington  had  never  seen. 

She  had  had  a  wedding  journey  in  a  coach  and  four  down 
through  Virginia  to  the  plantation  where  Lieutenant  Suth 
erland's  parents  lived.  There  for  three  weeks  they  had 
been  the  centre  of  a  round  of  festivities,  beginning  with  the 
grand  "infare"  given  by  the  parents  of  the  groom  to  all 
the  country-side,  and  returned  by  dances  and  dinners 
given  to  the  young  couple  by  the  neighbouring  planters. 

Kitty  had  seen  but  little  of  society,  since  she  had  been 
closely  kept  in  boarding-school,  nor  was  her  father's  social 
position  of  the  kind  to  insure  her  many  invitations  in 
Washington  society  had  she  been  at  home  to  receive  them. 
But  Kitty  was  born  to  shine  as  a  society  queen.  She  took 
all  her  new  honours  as  naturally  and  gracefully  as  if  she 
had  never  known  anything  else,  and  brought  to  her  plea 
sures  the  zest  and  keenness  of  enjoyment  of  an  unjaded 
appetite  that  were  a  powerful  charm  in  themselves. 

She  came  up  to  Washington  fresh  from  the  triumphs  of 
her  honeymoon  only  to  find  new  honours  awaiting  her. 
Mrs.  Sutherland,  the  wife  of  a  lieutenant  in  the  Navy, 
who  himself  belonged  to  one  of  the  old  Virginia  families, 
was  a  personage  of  some  consequence,  taking  a  very  dif 
ferent  standing  in  society  from  little  Kitty  McCabe,  the 
daughter  of  an  Irish  inn-keeper.  Kitty  had  been  a  care- 

113 


114  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

less  and  light-hearted  girl,  and  yet  there  had  been  times 
when  she  had  suffered  from  the  contrast  between  her  own 
social  position  and  that  of  the  girls  with  whom  she 
was  thrown  at  Mrs.  English's,  and  to  find  herself  now 
their  equal  socially,  and,  indeed,  from  her  rank  as  young 
matron,  taking  precedence  of  them,  filled  her  soul  with 
the  keenest  of  joy. 

But  if  Kitty  had  suffered  a  little  and  occasionally  from 
her  social  disabilities,  Kitty's  mother,  who  had  been  born 
to  a  very  different  station  in  life  from  the  one  she  was  now 
filling,  had  suffered  keenly  and  always  that  her  beautiful 
child  should  be  slighted  by  those  she  felt  not  half  her 
equals.  It  had  been  with  many  misgivings  and  a  great 
sinking  of  the  heart  that  she  had  given  her  lovely  daughter 
to  the  handsome  young  lieutenant;  but  seeing  her  now  so 
radiantly  happy,  and  taking  the  place  in  society  she  had 
always  coveted  for  her  and  believed  rightfully  belonged 
to  her,  made  the  mother  almost  as  radiantly  happy  as  the 
daughter. 

She  could  not  forbear  expressing  her  satisfaction  with 
this  state  of  affairs  to  Morlandwho  dropped  in  one  evening 
to  cheer  her  in  her  loneliness;  for  he  fancied  she  must  be 
suffering  from  her  separation  from  Kitty.  Or,  perhaps? 
he  only  wanted  to  hear  of  Kitty  and  have  a  chance  to  talk 
about  her. 

"You  see,  Major,  it  was  all  for  the  best,"  she  said,  with 
a  little  smile  that  strove  to  conceal  her  elation.  "Kitty 
is  where  she  belongs  and  where  her  father  and  I  could  not 
have  put  her." 

"And  does  that  console  you  for  losing  your  daughter?" 
demanded  Morland  gruffly.  "Mothers  are  strange 
creatures." 


JOHN  MORLAND  115 

"I  have  not  lost  her,"  Mrs.  McCabe  objected  gently. 
"  I  see  more  of  her  than  I  have  seen  for  many  years.  She 
runs  in  on  me  every  morning  and  takes  me  to  drive  or  to 
call  with  her  in  her  carriage  almost  every  afternoon,  to 
say  nothing  of  our  shopping  expeditions  together  and  our 
visits  to  the  Capitol.  Indeed,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  gotten  back 
my  little  girl  of  years  ago  whom  I  used  to  love  and  enjoy 
without  any  fear  or  anxieties.  I  feel  as  safe  and  happy 
about  her  as  I  used  to  feel  when  she  was  a  child,  always 
playing  about  my  room  and  hardly  out  of  my  sight  all  day." 

"Yes,  it  appears  to  have  turned  out  very  well,"  Morland 
granted  unwillingly,  and  seemed  half  inclined  to  say  more, 
but  checked  himself. 

What  he  had  wanted  to  say  was:  "It  is  too  soon  to 
judge  —  wait  till  you  see  what  time  will  bring  forth." 
But  although  he  was  in  a  chronic  state  of  unamiability 
these  days,  he  was  really  too  kind-hearted  to  utter  such  cruel 
words  to  the  happy  mother.  He  himself  had  grave  doubts 
as  to  Kitty's  continued  happiness,  and  he  had,  in  his  own 
opinion,  some  foundation  for  his  doubts.  He  had 
opportunities  of  seeing  Lieutenant  Sutherland  that  Mrs. 
McCabe,  and  not  even  Kitty  herself,  could  have,  and 
it  had  seemed  to  the  anxious  Morland,  almost  as  anxious 
for  Kitty's  happiness  as  her  mother,  that  the  Lieutenant 
sometimes  drank  more  than  was  good  for  him  and  was 
entirely  too  fond  of  the  gaming-table.  These  were  both 
vices  common  enough  in  that  day  in  Washington,  and  they 
did  not  necessarily  injure  a  man's  reputation  irreparably; 
but  Morland,  though  a  Southerner,  was  also  somewhat  of 
a  Puritan,  and  he  could  not  believe  a  woman's  happiness 
to  be  perfectly  secure  in  the  hands  of  a  man  addicted  to 
either  of  these  vices. 


116  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Kitty  had  not  seen  as  much  of  her  husband's  frailities  as 
had  Morland,  but  she  had  seen  a  little  of  them,  enough  to 
give  her  some  uneasiness  at  times  and  cast  a  slight  shadow 
over  the  radiant  and  otherwise  flawless  honeymoon. 
Twice  at  the  Virginia  parties  it  had  seemed  to  Kitty  he 
had  taken  more  wine  than  a  gentleman  should,  and  she  had 
remonstrated  with  him  when  she  found  herself  alone  with 
him;  but  he  was  so  repentant  and  so  ready  to  make  all 
kinds  of  promises  for  the  future,  and  accompanied  his  pro 
testations  with  such  graceful  endearments,  she  could  not 
but  forgive  him  and  believe  in  him.  For  he  had  all  the 
easy  good-nature  that  usually  accompanies  such  weak 
nesses,  and  he  was  infatuated  with  his  beautiful  wife. 

They  had  been  back  in  Washington  about  a  month  when 
they  received  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Decatur  to  dine  at 
Kalorama.  Now,  Mrs.  Decatur's  dinners  were  famous, 
and  an  invitation  to  them  stamped  one  with  the  hall-mark 
of  belonging  to  Washington's  most  exclusive  set.  After 
an  appearance  at  such  a  function  Kitty's  social  road  would 
be  made  clear  for  her.  No  one  need  fear  to  show  her  any 
attention,  and  everyone  would  probably  hasten  to  do  so  if 
she  succeeded  in  proving  herself  a  charming  dinner  guest. 

There  must  be  a  new  gown  for  such  an  occasion,  for 
Kitty's  trousseau  had  been  a  modest  one,  owing  partly  to 
the  brief  time  allowed  for  its  preparation,  and  she  had 
already  appeared  at  least  twice  in  every  frock  she  owned. 
Kitty  was  well  aware  that  she  had  a  reputation  as  a  beauty, 
and  that  it  must  be  sustained  by  a  proper  regard  for  dress ; 
for  no  one  can  be  an  acknowledged  beauty  and  not  dress 
to  suit  the  part. 

She  must  consult  her  mother  on  a  matter  of  such  mo 
ment,  for  her  mother's  taste  in  dress  was  faultless,  or  at 


JOHN  MORLAND  117 

least  Kitty  considered  it  so.  Her  mother  was  as  happy  and 
as  excited  over  the  invitation  as  Kitty ;  it  was  what  she  had 
most  coveted  for  her  daughter,  and  together  they  planned 
the  costume  and  spent  the  mornings  cutting  and  fitting 
and  sewing  and  directing  the  two  coloured  women  who, 
under  Mrs.  McCabe's  tuition,  had  come  to  be  almost  as 
skilful  with  the  needle  as  herself. 

They  were  happy  mornings  to  Mrs.  McCabe,  mornings 
that  she  often  looked  back  upon  as  almost  the  happiest  of 
her  life ;  for  as  mother  and  daughter  sat  cosily  chatting  over 
their  work,  there  was  no  cloud  on  Kitty's  brow,  and  she 
was  so  radiantly  happy  she  could  talk  of  little  beside  her 
husband  and  his  virtues,  the  chief  of  which  was  his  love 
for  her. 

Kalorama,  on  the  heights  above  Rock  Creek,  was  the 
most  beautiful  place  in  Washington,  and  Mrs.  Decatur 
the  most  charming  hostess.  One  was  sure  of  meeting  there 
all  the  distinguished  people  of  the  city  by  turns:  foreign 
ambassadors,  senators,  the  famous  men  in  the  House, 
members  of  the  Cabinet,  and  army  and  navy  officers  of 
rank. 

On  what  ground  Kitty  was  invited  would  have  been 
difficult  to  say,  for  her  husband  was  hardly  a  man  of 
sufficient  note  to  have  secured  her  an  invitation  on  his  own 
account.  Mrs.  McCabe  always  thought  it  was  Morland's 
doing,  for  Morland  had  been  a  warm  personal  friend  of 
Commodore  Decatur's,  and  since  his  return  to  Washington 
had  renewed  his  friendship  with  the  charming  widow,  and 
was  now  one  of  the  regular  habitue's  of  the  house. 

Dinner  was  set  for  six  o'clock,  an  hour  so  late  as  to  be 
almost  unheard  of  in  Washington  society,  and  people 


118  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

accused  Mrs.  Decatur  of  aping  English  styles  in  such  a 
daring  innovation.  It  was  now  early  in  April,  and  at  six 
o'clock  it  was  still  daylight,  and  Kitty  and  her  husband, 
as  they  drove  slowly  up  the  winding  road  leading  to 
Kalorama,  looked  off  at  the  sunset  clouds  gathering  in  the 
west  beyond  Georgetown,  and  baok  toward  the  east  where 
the  white  dome  of  the  Capitol,  standing  high  on  its  hill, 
glistened  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  And  then  they 
looked  at  each  other,  and  the  two  faces,  endowed  with 
more  than  ordinary  youthful  beauty,  shone  with  something 
better  than  the  sunset  glow:  a  radiance  from  two  young 
hearts  beating  fondly  with  young  love. 

"Ah,  Kitty,  I  'm  not  worthy  of  such  a  wife,"  said  Suther 
land  looking  down  on  her  tenderly.  "I  believe  if  I  had 
known  you  were  half  the  angel  you  are  I  would  never  have 
dared  ask  you  to  love  me,  and  if  you  had  known  what  a 
poor  stick  I  am  you  would  never  have  dared  take  me." 

Kitty  looked  up  at  him  with  shining  eyes  that  spoke 
love  and  devotion,  but  she  answered  him  saucily: 

"Well,  then,  I  'm  glad  that  neither  of  us  knew  —  are  n't 
you  ?  But  I  'm  such  a  silly  little  Kitty  I  'm  that  proud  of 
you."  And  for  the  fraction  of  a  second  she  let  her  cheek 
nestle  lovingly  against  his.  But  as  he  attempted  to  draw 
her  closer  she  sprang  quickly  away. 

"Take  care,  sir,  don't  touch  me!"  she  exclaimed  in  real 
or  pretended  alarm.  "You  will  muss  my  frock  and  crush 
my  feathers." 

And  with  their  faces  still  illuminated  with  the  joy  of 
that  ride  together  through  the  lovely  spring  evening  they 
entered  the  drawing-room  where  Mrs.  Decatur  was  receiv 
ing  her  guests. 

They  were  almost  the  last  arrivals,  and  this  was  from 


JOHN  MORLAND  119 

no  lack  of  punctuality  on  Kitty's'  part,  but  because  she 
knew  the  value  of  first  impressions,  and  she  wanted  the 
company  fully  assembled  that  she  might  make  her  entrance 
as  effective  as  possible.  Some  of  the  guests  had  not  seen 
her  since  her  marriage;  a  few  had  never  seen  her;  and  none 
were  fully  prepared  for  the  dazzling  creature  that  burst 
upon  them.  She  quite  took  even  Mrs.  Decatur's  breath 
away  who,  half-dazed  for  a  moment,  unconsciously  made 
almost  as  deep  a  curtsey  to  Kitty  as  Kitty  made  to  her 
hostess. 

Kitty's  shimmering  satin  and  glittering  jewels  and 
nodding  plumes  on  which  she  was  priding  herself  were 
not  half  so  dazzling  as  her  sparkling  eyes  and  glowing 
cheeks  and  burnished  waves  of  chestnut  hair,  and  the 
English  ambassador,  a  bachelor  and  something  of  a  gallant, 
begged  at  once  to  be  presented,  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening  had  eyes  or  ears  for  no  one  else.  Kitty  cared  little 
about  making  conquests  now,  she  was  too  absorbed  in  her 
handsome  young  husband;  nevertheless  it  pleased  her  to 
be  singled  out  by  this  elegant  man  of  fashion,  and  pleased 
her  more  for  the  sake  of  her  husband  than  for  her  own  sake. 
He  would  be  proud  of  her  that  she  could  take  away  the 
most  eligible  man  in  the  room  from  the  several  unmarried 
ladies  present. 

But  to  Kitty's  amazement,  when  they  had  been  seated  in 
the  grand  dining-room  at  a  more  beautifully  appointed 
table  than  Kitty  had  ever  sat  down  to,  waited  upon  by 
servants  as  perfectly  drilled  as  Tim  McCabe's,  but  who 
served  them  with  no  ostentatious  parade,  she  discovered 
that  it  was  not  pride  that  flashed  from  her  husband's  eyes. 
It  looked  to  Kitty  almost  like  anger;  a  look  she  had  never 
seen  in  his  eyes,  and  had  seldom  seen  in  the  eyes  of  any  one 


120  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

when  they  were  bent  on  her.  Kitty  could  not  understand 
it,  but  if  it  had  anything  to  do  with  the  lively  chatter  in 
which  she  and  the  English  ambassador  had  been 
engaged,  then  Kitty  decided  it  was  silly,  and  she  would  but 
make  herself  still  more  charming  to  her  agreeable  dinner 
partner. 

It  was  anger,  suspicion,  and  jealousy,  a  deadly  combina 
tion  indeed,  that  Kitty  had  surprised  in  her  husband's 
glance,  but  it  was  only  partly  due  to  the  ambassador's 
attentions.  Standing  in  Mrs.  Decatur's  drawing-room 
before  dinner,  for  the  moment  disengaged  and  watching 
with  a  glow  of  triumph  the  impression  Kitty  was  making, 
he  had  overheard  a  conversation  that  may  or  may  not 
have  been  intended  for  his  ears. 

"I  don't  understand  Mrs.  Decatur's  inviting  her  here; 
she  certainly  never  can  have  heard  the  story  of  her 
elopement." 

It  was  Miss  Dayton  speaking,  the  young  lady  who  had 
been  distinguished  by  Montclair's  attentions  at  Mrs. 
Adams's  ball,  and  who  was  infatuated  with  Montclair,  as 
Kitty  knew,  and  madly  jealous  of  any  one  for  whom  he 
showed  a  preference.  But  Sutherland  knew  nothing  about 
either  Miss  Dayton  or  Montclair,  and  he  had  only  the 
passing  interest  in  the  speech  that  any  one  might  feel 
on  hearing  of  an  elopement,  and  wondering  who  could 
be  the  principals.  It  was  the  reply  to  her  words  that 
startled  him  cruelly: 

"Elopement!  Kitty  McCabe  eloped!  With  whom, 
pray?  I  have  never  heard  a  word  of  it." 

"Oh,  I  thought  everybody  knew  it,  or  I  would  not  have 
mentioned  it  to  you.  I  only  heard  it  myself  the  other  day, 
but  the  person  who  told  me  said  it  was  common  talk  at  the 


JOHN  MORLAND  121 

time,  though  her  friends  seemed  to  have  succeeded  in 
hushing  it  up  later." 

"  But  who  did  she  elope  with  ?  and  when  was  it  ?  This 
is  too  startling  not  to  know  more  of  it." 

"  Oh,  three  or  four  years  ago,  I  think.  Nobody  knows 
the  man;  they  succeeded  in  keeping  that  quiet.  Kitty 
got  out  of  her  window  by  a  rope-ladder  at  midnight,  and 
no  one  discovered  she  was  gone  until  the  next  morning. 
Then  they  found  them  in  Georgetown  just  on  their  way, 
they  said,  to  the  priest's." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Sutherland  had  his 
back  turned  to  the  two  women;  he  could  not  see  the 
significant  glances  that  he  was  sure  were  interchanged,  but 
he  could  feel  them. 

In  a  state  bordering  on  frenzy  he  was  at  this  moment 
presented  to  the  lady  he  was  to  take  out  to  dinner,  and  had 
to  listen  to  praises  of  his  beautiful  wife  and  try,  for 
decency's  sake,  to  make  suitable  responses  to  them.  A 
stronger  man  than  the  handsome  young  lieutenant  would 
have  indignantly  refused  to  harbour  a  suspicion  against 
his  young  wife,  whose  love  for  him  had  shown  itself  as 
artless  as  it  was  deep  and  pure.  Morland  in  his  place 
would  probably  have  turned  on  the  two  women  and  found 
means  to  quietly  but  effectually  silence  them  at  once  and 
forever,  but  Lieutenant  Sutherland  was  cast  in  a  dif 
ferent  mould.  He  did  not  fully  believe  what  he  had  heard 
—  he  could  not;  but  it  was  agony  to  him  to  hear  his  wife's 
reputation  so  besmirched,  and  he  was  more  angry  with  her 
than  with  her  traducers  that  she  should  ever  have  given 
anyone  a  chance  to  speak  lightly  of  her.  The  attentions 
of  the  English  ambassador,  far  from  pleasing  him,  added 
to  his  suspicions  because  of  the  evident  pleasure  Kitty 


122  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

was  taking  in  them.  There  flashed  into  his  mind  the 
remembrance  that  he  had  found  it  no  difficult  matter  to 
make  a  quick  conquest  of  Kitty;  perhaps  others  before 
him  had  found  it  as  easy. 

To  do  him  justice, he  was  ashamed  of  this  last  argument, 
but  his  shame  only  made  him  sullen.  At  a  table  where  the 
wines  were  always  of  the  best  and  most  plentiful,  there 
was  never  any  heavy  drinking,  at  least  while  the  ladies 
were  present.  Now,  with  the  idea  of  forgetting  his  misery, 
Sutherland  began  to  empty  glass  after  glass,  and  to  call  for 
more,  when  the  attentive  servants  were  not  quick  enough 
to  replenish  his  glass,  in  a  voice  that  grew  louder  and 
more  truculent  with  each  succeeding  demand. 

Kitty  was  covered  with  shame  and  mortification.  She 
tried  to  catch  her  husband's  eye,  but  he  was  evidently 
avoiding  hers.  When  she  at  last  succeeded  she  put  all  the 
appeal  she  could  command  into  her  look,  hoping  to  win 
him  to  a  sense  of  his  condition.  But  he  returned  her  glance 
with  angry  disdain,  and  turned  to  call  for  more  wine  in  a 
tone  more  ostentatiously  blatant  than  before. 

Poor  Kitty!  She  had  been  so  proud  of  her  handsome 
young  husband,  and  so  happy  and  excited  in  the  anticipa 
tion  of  this  dinner  at  Kalorama,  and  now  she  was  more 
miserable  than  she  had  ever  been  in  her  life.  And,  with 
no  clue  to  the  cause  of  such  a  change  in  her  husband,  she 
was  almost  as  bewildered  as  she  was  miserable. 

Of  course  it  was  impossible  that  such  a  flagrant  breach 
of  the  proprieties  on  Sutherland's  part  could  go  unobserved. 
No  one  understood  it  any  more  than  did  Kitty,  but  the 
distress  of  the  young  wife  was  so  evident,  though  with 
heightened  colour  she  was  bravely  trying  to  cover  it,  that 
the  guests  began  to  vie  with  each  other  in  their  attempts 


JOHN  MORLAND  123 

to  distract  and  amuse  her.  Only  Morland  was  feeling 
such  blinding  anger  toward  the  young  husband,  and  such 
keen  pain  for  the  young  wife,  that  he  could  take  no  part  in 
the  friendly  contest,  but  sat  rigidly  silent.  The  Ambas 
sador  redoubled  his  attentions,  Mrs.  Decatur  repeated 
some  pretty  compliments  to  her  —  for  since  the  Ambassa 
dor  was  on  her  right  and  Kitty  was  next  the  Ambassador 
they  were  near  neighbours  —  and  Webster  and  Clay 
began  a  series  of  amusing  and  friendly  attacks,  one  on  the 
other,  that  soon  had  the  table  absorbed ;  for  there  were  no 
two  men  in  the  country  quite  such  brilliant  dinner  guests 
as  these  two. 

Kitty  had  always  known  Clay,  but  she  had  met  Webster 
for  the  first  time  this  evening,  though  his  striking  figure 
and  magnificent  head  had  long  been  familiar  to  her  by 
sight.  It  had  been  one  of  her  triumphs  this  evening  that 
Webster  had  stopped  to  talk  with  her  a  minute  or  two  in 
the  drawing-room,  taking  the  opportunity  to  express  to  her 
his  admiration  for  her  mother;  and  now,  in  spite  of  all  her 
misery,  she  could  not  but  feel  a  thrill  of  gratification  when 
the  great  statesman  pointedly  addressed  her. 

"Mrs.  Sutherland,"  he  said,  "you  were  not  old  enough 
to  be  visiting  the  galleries  of  Congress  when  my  friend  Clay 
executed  his  great  coup  d'etat,  were  you  ? " 

"I  'm  not  sure,"  said  Kitty  modestly,  "for  I  am  so 
ignorant  I  do  not  know  what  the  coup  d'etat  was." 

"  My  enemies  have  not  always  called  it  by  such  a  pretty 
name,"  interposed  Clay,  laughing.  "  John  Randolph  calls 
it 'a  trick'. 

"If  it  was  not  a  coup  d'etat,"  said  Benton,  in  his  stately 
way,  slightly  tinged  with  pomposity,  "I  know  nothing  in 
history  that  could  be  called  one." 


124  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"  But  tell  me,  please,  what  it  was,"  urged  Kitty.  "  How 
am  I  to  decide  whether  it  was  a  coup  d'etat  or  a  trick  if  I  do 
not  know  what  you  are  talking  about  ?" 

"Yes,  Kitty  shall  decide!"  exclaimed  Clay  gleefully, 
"and  I  adjure  you  all  to  abide  by  her  decision.  Webster 
shall  tell  the  tale,  which  I  consider  a  generous  concession 
on  my  part.  Now,  Kitty,  remember,  I  'm  your  oldest  friend 
here."  The  brilliant  Clay  was  rather  proud  of  being  on 
such  friendly  terms  with  this  beautiful  young  woman  as 
to  be  able  to  call  her  by  her  first  name. 

Webster  was  quite  willing  to  tell  the  story. 

"Whether  it  was  a  trick  or  a  coup  d'etat,"  he  began, 
"it  was  undeniably  clever,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  some  of 
us,  saved  the  country  from  civil  war.  But  you  shall  decide, 
Mrs.  Sutherland.  The  Missouri  Compromise  resolution, 
you  know,  passed  the  House  on  March  second,  and 
John  Randolph  voted  for  it.  But  over  night  he 
thought  better  of  his  vote,  I  suppose,"  with  a  depreca 
tory  bow  toward  Benton  —  "  it  seemed  to  him  a  blow 
aimed  at  State  sovereignty,  or  adverse  to  the  slavery 
interests.  Anyway,  he  was  in  his  seat  early  on  the 
morning  of  March  third,  and  devotional  exercises  were 
hardly  over  before  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  moved 
to  reconsider  the  vote  of  the  day  before  on  the  Missouri 
question.  Now,  Clay  had  worked  hard  for  the  passage 
of  the  resolution,  and  had  made  some  great  speeches 
in  its  behalf.  And  by  the  way,  Clay,"  said  Webster 
turning  suddenly  to  him  with  a  keen  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "what  has  become  of  those  speeches?  I  was 
looking  for  them  in  the  records  the  other  day  and  they 
were  not  there." 

Clay  coloured  slightly.     He  knew  from  the  twinkle  in 


JOHN  MORLAND  125 

Webster's  eye  that  he  understood  why  they  were  not  there, 
but  all  he  said  was  : 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  and  Webster  went  on  with  his  story. 

"Well,  of  course  Mr.  Clay  was  not  going  to  have  the 
whole  subject  reopened  and  the  resolution  perhaps  lost. 
Quick  as  a  flash  he  ruled  Mr.  Randolph's  motion  out  of 
order:  the  regular  business  of  the  House  must  be  first 
transacted.  Randolph  was  as  uneasy  as  a  fish  out  of 
water.  He  knew  Clay  was  equal  to  any  emergency,  and  he 
watched  him  like  a  hawk,  while  he  listened  to  the  petitions 
from  the  States  being  received  and  referred.  The  moment 
Virginia  was  called  Randolph  was  on  his  feet  again,  and 
moved  that  'the  House  retain  in  its  possession  the 
Missouri  bill  until  the  period  should  arrive  when,  accord 
ing  to  the  rules  of  the  House,  a  motion  to  reconsider  should 
be  in  order.'  But  Clay  was  ready  for  him. 

"  '  The  gentleman  from  Virginia  is  out  of  order  for  the 
same  reason  assigned  on  his  first  application  to-day/ 
said  Clay,  and  while  petitions  were  going  on  he  either 
shoved  a  note  to  the  clerk  or  dropped  him  a  word,  and  the 
bill  was  hurried  off  to  the  Senate.  Then  when  Randolph 
finally  got  the  floor,  Mr.  Clay  '  regretted  to  say  that  he  had 
ascertained  the  fact  that  the  proceedings  of  the  House  on 
that  bill  yesterday  had  been  communicated  to  the  Senate, 
and  that  the  bill  not  being  in  the  possession  of  the  House 
a  motion  to  reconsider  could  not  be  entertained.'  Now 
either  that  was  the  cleverest  coup  d'etat  or  the  sharpest 
trick  in  the  history  of  the  House  —  which  was  it,  Mrs. 
Sutherland?" 

But  Kitty  had  no  chance  to  reply,  for  a  burst  of  applause 
greeted  the  close  of  Webster's  story.  It  was  a  well-known 
incident  to  most  of  those  present,  but  it  recalled  a  time 


126  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

when  sectional  feeling  was  at  fever  heat,  and  when  the 
"Great  Pacificator"  as  men  loved  to  call  Clay,  had 
earned  his  title  and  won  the  larger  part  of  his  popularity. 
Therefore,  though  a  little  of  the  applause  was  for  the  story 
teller,  most  of  it  was  for  Clay,  and  Webster  indicated  that 
he  claimed  no  share  in  it  by  heartily  joining  in  it  himself. 

As  the  applause  subsided,  the  Ambassador  turned  to 
Kitty. 

"But  you  were  to  decide,  Mrs.  Sutherland,"  he  insisted, 
"which  was  it?" 

"Oh,"  returned  Kitty  quickly,  with  her  sweetest  smile 
directed  toward  Clay,  "in  America,  you  know,  we  decide 
every  question  by  the  vote  of  the  majority,  and  your 
applause  shows  that  you  have  already  unanimously 
decided  it  to  be  what  Mr.  Webster  called  it,  '  the  cleverest 
coup  d'etat  in  the  history  of  the  House/" 

There  was  another  burst  of  applause  —  for  Kitty  this 
time.  The  table  was  at  ease  once  more ;  they  had  for 
gotten  Lieutenant  Sutherland,  who  was  still  drinking 
heavily.  Even  Kitty's  attention  had  for  the  moment  been 
diverted  from  him.  Mrs.  Decatur  was  not  going  to  give 
any  chance  for  the  return  of  the  uneasiness;  she  seized 
this  opportune  moment  to  rise  from  the  table  and  lead  the 
ladies  with  her  back  to  the  drawing-room. 

Clay  and  Morland  both  sprang  to  hold  back,  one  on 
each  side,  the  wide  folding-doors  as  the  ladies  passed 
through.  As  Kitty  swept  by  him  Clay  bent  his  tall  head 
smilingly  and  whispered: 

"I  was  very  proud  of  my  little  friend." 

Kitty  flashed  him  a  smile  of  pleased  appreciation, 
but  turned  almost  instantly  to  Morland  on  the  other  side 
and  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  so  sad  and  so  appealing 


JOHN  MORLAND  127 

there  was  no  trace  of  the  radiant  Kitty  in  them.  Morland 
knew  what  the  appealing  glance  meant:  it  said  as  clearly 
as  words  —  "Take  care  of  my  husband." 

There  was  no  time  for  him  to  reply,  but  he  bent  on  her 
such  kindly  eyes,  so  reassuring  and  so  full  of  the  truest 
sympathy,  it  was  better  than  many  words,  and  Kitty  fol 
lowed  Mrs.  Decatur  to  the  drawing-room  a  little  comforted. 


CHAPTER  II 

MORLAND  MAKES  TWO  RESOLUTIONS 

TS  IT  true  that  Clay  's  speeches  on  the  Missouri  Com- 
•••  promise  are  not  down  in  the  records  ?  "  Morland  asked 
Webster,  when  for  a  moment  they  happened  to  be  together 
in  a  corner  of  Mrs.  Decatur's  drawing-room.  Clay  had 
gone  into  the  card-room  almost  immediately  from  the 
dining-room:  a  game  of  whist  drew  him  as  irresistibly  as 
the  pole  draws  the  needle. 

"Yes,  it's  true,"  replied  Webster,  "and  I  suppose  you 
know  why?" 

"I  am  not  sure,  but  I  saw  from  Clay's  manner  that  he 
believed  you  knew  why,  and  was  embarrassed  by  your 
knowledge." 

"It  would  take  more  than  that  to  embarrass  Clay,  I 
fancy,"  returned  Webster,  "but  you  remember  he  began 
his  political  career  by  making  the  most  unequivocal  anti- 
slavery  speeches.  It  required  some  courage,  too,  in  a 
Kentuckian,  to  show  himself  so  independent  of  his  con 
stituents,  and  the  country,  North  and  South,  admired  him 
for  it.  Well,  those  speeches  went  on  the  records  and 
you  can  easily  see  it  would  be  a  difficult  matter  to 
explain  to  posterity  the  entire  change  of  tone  in  his  Mis 
souri  Compromise  speeches,  and  Clay  has  had  them 
suppressed." 

"Yes,  I  see,"  said  Morland  thoughtfully.  "Well, 
Clay  is  a  great  man,  but  he  is  also  a  clever  one, 

128 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    129 

which  in  my  opinion  is  something  entirely  distinct  from 
greatness." 

"He  is  indeed  a  great  man,"  assented  Webster  warmly. 
"I  regard  him  as  the  most  brilliant  intellect  this  country 
has  yet  produced.  A  man  has  a  right  to  a  change  of 
opinion.  I  have  no  doubt  Clay  came  honestly  by  his,  and, 
however  vacillating  his  stand  upon  the  slavery  question 
may  have  been,  the  country  owes  him  a  debt  of  gratitude 
it  can  never  repay  for  his  management  of  the  Missouri 
Compromise!" 

Morland  started  to  agree  with  him,  but  his  attention 
was  diverted  by  a  signal  from  Kitty. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  "  but  I  see  Mrs.  Sutherland  is 
ready  to  go,  and  I  have  promised  to  see  her  home." 

"Poor  little  woman!"  exclaimed  Webster  sympathetic 
ally,  but  Morland  seemed  almost  to  resent  his  sympathy. 
He  bowed  stiffly  and  without  a  word  hastened  to 
Kitty's  side. 

When,  a  few  moments  before,  the  men  had  come  in  from 
the  dining-room,  Lieutenant  Sutherland  had  not  been  with 
them.  Kitty's  glance  of  terrified  inquiry  sought  Morland 
at  once,  and  he  hurried  to  explain  to  her  in  a  low  tone: 

"Your  husband,"  he  said,  "was  not  feeling  well,  and  I 
have  sent  him  home  with  my  man.  I  have  promised  to 
make  his  excuses  to  Mrs.  Decatur  and  to  see  you  safely 
home.  I  will  go  and  speak  to  Mrs.  Decatur  now,  and  when 
you  are  ready  to  go  you  can  signal  me.  But  you  need  not 
hurry." 

Poor  Kitty!  She  was  overwhelmed  with  mortification 
and  anxiety,  but  for  the  moment  the  mortification  was 
uppermost.  With  such  bright  anticipations  she  had  come 
to  this  party,  and  almost  from  the  very  start  it  had  been 


130  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

but  a  long-drawn  misery  to  her.  She  was  hot  with  anger 
against  her  young  husband.  He  had  destroyed  all  her 
social  ambitions.  No  one  in  society  would  ever  invite 
them  again  —  certainly  Mrs.  Decatur  would  not.  There 
was  no  use  in  being  beautiful  and  charming  if  she  was  to 
be  dragged  down  by  a  drunken  husband,  for  Kitty  had  only 
too  surely  guessed  the  scene  in  the  dining-room  and  the 
necessity  of  carrying  home  a  man  in  no  condition  to  help 
himself.  Well,  she  would  brave  it  out.  No  one  should 
see  her  display  the  white  feather.  She  would  save  what  she 
could  from  the  wreck.  And  the  English  Ambassador 
coming  up  at  that  moment,  she  received  his  air  of  devotion 
with  greater  complacency  than  she  had  yet  shown,  and  met 
him  quite  half-way  in  his  tentative  efforts  at  a  flirtation. 

But  at  the  very  moment  when  to  the  observers  (and  there 
were  some  present  who  were  not  altogether  friendly) 
Kitty  seemed  to  be  enjoying  most  the  Ambassador's 
compliments  and  tender  trifles,  colouring  prettily  in 
response  to  them  and  even  audaciously  drawing  him  on  to 
repeat  them  —  at  that  very  moment  anxiety  rushed  back 
upon  her  in  an  overwhelming  flood.  She  had  no  thought 
now  for  anyone  but  her  husband.  Her  anger  against  him 
was  gone.  Ill  and  suffering,  as  she  pictured  him,  she  must 
see  him  at  once.  In  the  midst  of  one  of  the  Ambassador's 
prettiest  speeches  she  signalled  Morland,  and,  careless  of 
the  chagrin  depicted  on  the  Ambassador's  face,  excused 
herself  to  him  and  sought  Mrs.  Decatur  to  say  good-night. 

In  the  carriage  descending  the  winding  drive  that  Kitty 
and  her  husband  had  found  so  beautiful  in  the  ascent,  and 
which  was,  if  possible,  lovelier  in  the  soft  moonlight  than 
under  the  sunset  glow,  but  for  whose  beauties  Kitty  had 
now  no  eyes,  Morland  said  to  her: 


JOHN  MORLAND  131 

"I  had  your  husband  taken  to  my  rooms,  Kitty.  I 
thought  - 

But  Kitty  interrupted  him  in  a  blind  flash  of  anger: 

"  You  had  no  right  to  do  that!  I  shall  go  and  bring  him 
home!" 

"  But  he  was  not  in  a  condition,  Kitty,"  Morland  remon 
strated  gently,  "for  any  woman  to  see  him,  and  I  hardly 
think  it  safe  for  him  to  see  you!" 

"Not  safe  to  see  me!  My  husband!"  Kitty  was  too 
choked  with  many  emotions,  the  chief  of  which  was  anger, 
to  utter  another  word. 

"For  some  reason,  Kitty "  (he  hesitated  miserably; 

it  was  not  a  pleasant  task  he  had  set  himself,  but  he  must 
go  through  with  it)  "for  some  reason  your  husband  is  very 
bitter  against  you,  and  in  his  present  irresponsible  condi 
tion  I  was  not  sure  what  he  might  do  or  say.  You  do  not 
know  any  cause  for  his  bitterness,  do  you?" 

"Cause?"  repeated  Kitty,  bewildered.  She  was  think 
ing  how  overflowing  with  love  toward  her  he  had  been  in 
that  very  carriage  and  on  that  very  spot  a  few  short  hours 
before.  "  No,  there  can  be  no  cause.  He  was  never  hap 
pier  or  more  devoted  to  me  than  when  we  arrived  at  Mrs. 
Decatur's,"  and  at  the  thought  all  her  pride  melted. 
"Oh,  Major  Morland,  what  can  have  happened!  Did 
you  see  me  do  anything  at  Mrs.  Decatur's  that  I  ought  not 
to  have  done  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Kitty,"  said  Morland  sternly,  for  Kitty  was  now 
sobbing  piteously,  and  between  his  desire  to  take  her  in  his 
arms  and  comfort  her  as  he  had  sometimes  comforted  the 
little  Kitty  of  a  few  years  ago,  and  his  almost  overmastering 
rage  against  the  Lieutenant,  he  must  needs  be  stern  if  he 
would  speak  at  all. 


132  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Kitty  did  not  resent  the  sternness.  She  had  not  quite 
grown  out  of  considering  herself  a  child  with  Morland,  nor 
was  she  quite  used  to  her  dignity  of  married  woman.  She 
choked  back  the  sobs  as  best  she  could,  and  in  a  minute 
Morland  had  recovered  control  of  himself  so  that  he 
could  go  on  more  gently. 

"Now,  Kitty,  since  Lieutenant  Sutherland  is  to  stay  with 
me  to-night,  I  think  I  had  better  take  you  right  to  your 
mother  instead  of  taking  you  to  your  rooms." 

But  at  that  Kitty  was  terror  stricken. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Major  Morland !  Mother  must  never  know 
-  it  would  kill  herl"  she  cried,  in  a  panic. 

The  Major  thought  so  too.  He  had  an  idea  she  would 
suffer  from  this  unhappy  state  of  affairs  even  more  poig 
nantly  than  Kitty  herself;  but  neither  could  he  bear  to 
think  of  Kitty  alone  at  her  boarding-place  with  this  first 
great  sorrow  of  her  life. 

Kitty  misunderstood  his  silence.  She  turned  to  him 
and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  with  more  of  quiet 
earnestness  and  womanliness  than  Morland  had  ever  seen 
in  her  she  said : 

"Promise  me,  Major  Morland,  that  you  will  never  say  a 
word  of  this  to  my  mother.  This  is  my  secret,  though  " 
bitterly  —  "it  cannot  be  called  much  of  a  secret,  since  all 
who  were  at  Mrs.  Decatur's  house  share  it  with  me  and  by 
to-morrow  it  will  be  the  common  property  of  all  Washing 
ton,  I  suppose.  But  it  must  be  kept  from  my  mother  at 
every  hazard.  Poor  mother!  She  was  so  happy  in 
getting  me  ready  for  the  party,  and  she  thinks  I  have  been 
so  happy  this  evening!"  And  at  that  Kitty  burst  into 
fresh  tears.  But  this  time  she  was  weeping  quietly,  and 
Morland  did  not  stop  her. 


JOHN  MORLAND  133 

He  did  not  speak  to  her  again  until  they  were  nearing 
her  boarding-place.  He  had  been  thinking,  and  he  con 
cluded  he  had  been  too  sympathetic  for  Kitty's  good  —  he 
would  try  now  what  a  little  plain  common-sense  would  do, 
for  Kitty  was  still  weeping  silently. 

"  Kitty,"  he  said,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  tone  he  could 
assume,  "you  have  Emmeline  with  you,  have  n't  you?" 

Kitty  merely  nodded  in  reply. 

"Well,  have  her  bring  a  cot  into  your  bedroom  and 
stay  with  you  to-night  so  that  she  will  be  at  hand  if  you  need 
anything."  And  then  he  went  on,  still  very  matter-of- 
fact,  he  thought,  and  displaying  much  hard,  worldly  sense. 

"We  must  n't  make  mountains  out  of  molehills,  Kitty. 
Most  men  drink  more  than  is  good  for  them  occasionally, 
and  when  they  get  over  it  can  be  good  men  and  good  hus 
bands.  Sutherland  will  probably  turn  up  to-morrow  all 
right  and  very  repentant,  and  it  Js  more  than  likely  this 
will  never  happen  again.  It 's  hard  on  you,  Kitty,  but 
you  must  n't  think  you  will  never  be  happy  again,  and  I 
would  n't  be  too  bitter  against  him  when  you  see  him, 
if  I  were  you." 

Kitty  had  stopped  crying  at  Morland's  very  first  words. 
She  turned  her  face  away  from  him  as  he  finished  speaking, 
and  looked  out  at  the  moon-lighted  street  through  which 
they  were  passing,  but  all  she  said  was : 

"Molehills!" 

Morland  was  very  uncomfortable.  He  seemed  to  have 
made  no  better  success  at  being  matter-of-fact  and  talking 
good  common-sense  than  he  had  in  being  sympathetic. 
And  that  was  rather  hard  on  him,  for  he  detested  the  role, 
and  every  word  that  he  had  uttered  had  been  in  direct 
violation  of  his  own  feelings  and  principles.  He  was  so 


134  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

strong  himself  he  had  little  toleration  for  a  man  who 
allowed  himself  to  be  dominated  by  appetite,  and  he  was  so 
fastidiously  a  gentleman  he  could  not  understand  how  any 
man  could  so  vilely  degrade  himself.  Neither  did  he  believe 
that  such  a  weakling  could  be  cither  as  good  a  man  or  as 
good  a  husband  as  another,  and  while  he  was  recommend 
ing  to  Kitty  not  to  be  too  bitter,  his  own  soul  was  seething 
with  bitterness  toward  the  man  who  could  so  treat  her. 

He  was  also  greatly  abashed  by  Kitty's  ejaculation 
"Molehills!"  It  struck  him  much  as  if  she  had  said 
"  Fiddlesticks ! "  and  kept  him  quiet  for  the  remaining  short 
distance  they  had  yet  to  go. 

What  was  more  amazing  to  one  who  knew  Kitty  as  well 
as  Morland  supposed  he  knew  her,  Kitty  was  quiet  too. 
Only  when  he  had  helped  her  from  the  carriage  and  up  the 
steps  of  her  boarding-house  and  opened  the  door,  which 
always  stood  unlocked,  she  turned  to  him: 

"  I  shall  not  forget  what  you  have  said,  Major  Morland, 
and  I  thank  you  for  it.  And  do  not  worry  about  me  — 
good-night." 

He  did  not  quite  like  the  way  she  said  it  —  it  sounded 
almost  hard,  and  anything  was  better  than  hardness  in 
Kitty  —  anything! 

He  had  sent  his  own  carriage  home  with  Sutherland  — 
this  was  Kitty's.  He  dismissed  it,  for  he  was  not  ready  to 
go  to  his  rooms  yet;  his  soul  revolted  at  the  thought  of 
what  he  should  find  there.  For,  added  to  his  spiritual 
indignation  and  scorn  of  Sutherland's  moral  turpitude, 
was  the  fastidious  shrinking  of  the  flesh  from  the  spectacle 
that  awaited  him.  The  moonlight  was  flooding  the  streets, 
glorifying  all  that  was  mean  and  common ;  he  looked  up  at 
the  white  dome  shining  calm  and  serene  in  its  pure  rays,  and 


JOHN  MORLAND  135 

as  on  another  night  in  April,  three  years  before,  he  walked 
up  to  Capitol  Hill  to  find  peace  for  his  perturbed  spirit. 

The  Capitol  was  still  unfinished,  there  were  still  frag 
ments  of  broken  pillars  and  great  stones  scattered  about 
on  which  to  find  a  seat.  He  sat  down,  and  as  on  that  other 
night  he  turned  over  and  over  in  his  mind  Kitty's  future 
and  the  prospects  for  her  happiness.  The  prospects 
seemed  to  him  but  gloomy  ones,  and  he  began  to  wonder 
whether  it  would  not  have  been  better  for  Kitty  if  that 
elopement  of  three  years  before  had  been  allowed  to  go 
on  to  its  conclusion.  Montclair  was  a  coxcomb  and 
devoid,  Morland  honestly  believed,  of  the  foundation 
instincts  and  principles  of  a  gentleman,  but  was  not  any 
thing  better  than  being  the  wife  of  a  drunkard  ?  Was  it 
possible  he  himself  had  played  the  despicable  part  of  a 
"  meddler,"  and  bungled  in  the  meddling  ?  Well,  he  would 
not  make  that  mistake  a  second  time.  He  would  keep  his 
hands  off,  and  leave  Kitty  to  her  fate  and  let  her  work  out 
her  own  salvation. 

Only,  two  things  he  was  resolved  upon.  One  was  that 
he  would  see  as  little  of  Kitty  as  possible,  partly  because  he 
thought  he  had  detected  signs  of  jealousy  in  Sutherland, 
and  partly  because  he  had  discovered,  on  his  side,  that  he 
was  not  quite  as  sure  of  himself  as  he  would  like  to  be  —  not 
quite  so  emotionless  as  he  had  always  considered  himself. 

His  second  resolve  was  that  he  should  cultivate  Suther 
land's  acquaintance  and  see  what  the  friendship  of  an 
older  man  might  be  able  to  do  in  helping  him  to  steady 
himself;  for  after  all,  the  young  fellow  had  some  good 
traits,  and  he  was  Kitty's  husband,  and  Kitty  loved  him. 

Which  last  resolution  on  Morland's  part  did  not  seem 
to  exactly  constitute  leaving  Kitty  to  her  fate. 


CHAPTER  III 

KITTY  CONFESSES 

• 

MORLAND  concluded  he  had  been  right  about  the 
signs  of  jealousy  when,  the  next  morning,  Suther 
land,  having  waked  up  in  the  headachy  and  irritable  state 
to  be  expected,  resented  finding  himself  in  Morland's 
rooms.  Adopting  the  same  matter-of-fact  tone  that  he 
had  fancied  would  be  so  effective  with  Kitty,  but  had  rather 
disappointed  him  in  her  case,  he  reminded  Sutherland  that 
he  was  a  very  old  friend  of  Kitty's  mother,  and  as  Suther 
land  had  not  seemed  quite  in  a  condition  to  be  presentable 
in  his  wife's  apartments  he  had  naturally  taken  it  upon 
himself  to  offer  his  own  to  Kitty's  husband. 

But  the  matter-of-fact  tone  was  no  more  successful  than 
it  had  been  in  Kitty's  case.  Morland  had  not  finished 
speaking  when  the  young  fellow  burst  out  irritably  and 
with  inexcusable  rudeness: 

"I  consider  you,  sir,  a  meddling  old  fool!  I  will  thank 
you  not  to  show  such  an  excess  of  interest  in  my  wife 
hereafter,  and  not  to  take  upon  yourself  to  decide  whether 
I  am  or  am  not  in  a  condition  to  present  myself  at  my 
wife's  apartments." 

Morland  had  all  a  Southerner's  fiery  temper,  and  it  was 
a  difficult  matter  to  keep  his  hands  off  the  insolent  and 
ungrateful  young  puppy,  as  he  regarded  him.  But  he 
succeeded  in  controlling  himself  out  of  a  true  consideration 
for  Kitty,  and  although  he  could  not  prevent  the  violent 

136 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    137 

colour  from  flaming  in  his  face,  he  only  replied  by  a 
formal  bow  and  turning  on  his  heel,  left  his  bedroom  to 
Sutherland  and  his  gloomy  thoughts,  while  he  sought  for- 
getfulness  of  Kitty  and  her  affairs  by  burying  himself  in 
the  morning  Intelligencer  in  his  adjoining  sitting-room. 

But  Morland  had  also  been  right  in  attributing  to  the 
lieutenant  some  good  qualities.  He  was  a  gentleman  at 
heart,  and  nothing  but  the  state  of  his  nerves  could  have 
betrayed  him  into  such  rudeness.  Left  alone,  he  soon  came 
to  himself,  and  when  he  presented  himself  in  Morland's 
sitting-room  "  clothed  and  in  his  right  mind"  he  was  ready 
with  as  complete  and  as  humble  apologies  as  Morland 
could  desire,  and  which  he  hastened  to  accept.  Neither 
of  the  men,  however,  felt  fully  at  ease  with  the  other,  and 
the  Lieutenant  being  both  eager  to  see  his  wife  and  dreading 
the  meeting,  refused  Morland's  offer  of  breakfast,  for  which 
he  said  he  had  no  appetite,  and  hurried  away. 

For  Kitty  it  had  been  an  epoch-making  night.  She 
had  not  intended  to  follow  Morland's  advice  and  have 
Emmeline  sleep  in  her  room — there  was  nothing  she  was  so 
greatly  desiring  as  to  be  alone  —  but  Emmeline  was  wait 
ing  up  to  undress  her  and  Kitty  found  it  necessary  to 
explain  her  husband's  absence.  She  made  some  lame 
excuse  of  his  having  been  summoned  to  the  Navy  Yard 
on  duty,  but  the  faithful  slave  easily  read  the  signs  of 
distress  in  her  young  mistress's  face  and  was  not  deceived. 
She  would  listen  to  no  remonstrances  from  Kitty  —  and 
Kitty  was  too  indulgent  a  mistress  to  do  more  than 
remonstrate.  A  cot  was  not  to  be  had  without  disturbing 
the  household  and  necessitating  awkward  explanations, 
but  Emmeline  thought  it  no  hardship  to  bring  a  pillow  and 


138  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

quilt  and,  fully  dressed,  wrap  herself  in  the  quilt  and  lie 
down  on  the  floor  at  the  foot  of  Kitty's  bed. 

There  were  moments  through  the  long  night  when  Kitty, 
tossing  on  a  sleepless  bed  and  trying  to  suppress  the  sighs 
and  moans  that  would  have  relieved  her  full  heart  if  she 
could  have  given  vent  to  them,  could  have  wished  her  girl 
Emmeline  had  shown  less  devotion.  But  there  were  also 
moments  when  the  sound  of  her  quiet  breathing  was  a 
comfort  to  her,  assuring  her  that  whatever  might  befall  her 
she  had  one  faithful  friend  on  whom,  though  humble  and 
comparatively  helpless,  she  could  always  rely.  The 
future  looked  very  black  to  Kitty,  but  she  did  not  for  a 
moment  consider  turning  to  her  mother  for  help.  The 
pride  that  every  woman  feels  who  will  not  admit,  until  she 
is  compelled,  that  her  marriage  has  been  a  failure,  and  who 
will  conceal  her  husband's  faults  till  the  last  moment 
from  those  who  are  the  most  anxious  for  her  welfare,  was 
partly  responsible  for  this.  But,  to  do  Kitty  justice,  it  was 
more  love  than  pride  with  her ;  she  would  spare  her  mother 
the  pain  which  she  rightly  guessed  would  be  as  keen  or 
keener  than  her  own. 

In  her  restless  tossings  upon  her  pillow  she  was  going 
over  and  over  in  her  mind  every  incident  of  the  evening  and 
trying  to  find  a  cause  for  her  husband's  actions.  It  was  not 
so  much  his  intoxication  that  troubled  her  —  that  was  a 
deep  mortification  to  her,  and  especially  that  he  should  have 
been  betrayed  into  it  at  Kalorama,  the  place  of  all  places 
where  she  had  most  desired  to  make  a  good  impression 
for  herself  and  her  husband  —  but  drunkenness  was  more 
lightly  considered  and  more  easily  condoned  in  the  Wash 
ington  of  that  day  than  in  the  Washington  of  this,  and 
Kitty  might  have  hoped  for  a  social  reinstatement  for  her 


JOHN  MORLAND  139 

husband  and  herself  even  at  Kalorama.  The  iron  that 
had  entered  her  soul  had  been  the  angry  and  suspicious 
and  even  sneering  glances  that  had  been  directed  full  upon 
her  by  her  husband  in  response  to  her  pleading  and 
reproachful  ones  when  she  feared  he  was  beginning  to 
drink  too  heavily.  He  was  not  then  sufficiently  under  the 
influence  of  the  wine  to  make  his  condition  responsible  for 
them,  and  Kitty  racked  her  brain  in  vain  for  an  adequate 
cause.  If  the  Ambassador's  attentions  had  provoked  them, 
then  she  was  indeed  angry,  and  it  seemed  a  hopeless  future 
to  look  forward  to  if  every  social  triumph  for  her  was  to 
result  only  in  being  subjected  by  her  husband  to  the 
indignity  of  suspicion.  But  she  could  not  believe  it  had  to 
do  entirely  with  the  Ambassador  —  the  cause  was  too 
inadequate  to  the  effect  —  and  toward  morning  Kitty, 
tired  in  brain  and  heart,  gave  up  her  fruitless  search  for  a 
solution  and  dropped  into  a  short  but  heavy  slumber. 

Emmeline,  waking  at  her  usual  hour  and  finding  Kitty 
sleeping,  hoped  she  had  slept  all  night  and  stole  quietly 
away  with  her  pillow  and  her  quilt  to  make  herself  tidy  and 
return  by  the  time  she  should  be  needed.  She  stole  as 
quietly  back,  but  Kitty  was  wide  awake  and  staring  with 
unseeing  eyes  at  a  point  in  the  wall  opposite ;  for  the  first 
moment  of  a  return  to  consciousness  had  brought  back  her 
trouble,  and  she  was  again  in  the  treadmill  of  vain  ques 
tionings.  Emmeline  addressed  her  with  exaggerated 
cheerfulness: 

"Am*  you  gwine  to  git  up,  missie?  Dis  am  a  gran* 
mohnen  fo'  white  folks." 

Sure  enough  the  sun  was  shining  gloriously  and  Kitty 
had  not  noticed  it.  She  glanced  toward  the  window  and 
saw  that  the  tender  green  of  April  was  almost  pushing 


140  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

into  her  room,  so  vigorously  had  the  spring  growth  of 
maples  and  lindens  asserted  itself.  The  birds  were  sing 
ing  madly,  and  delicious  odours  from  a  crab-apple  tree,  in 
full  blossom  just  below  her  window,  were  filling  the  room. 
No  young  thing  could  quite  resist  the  influences  of  such  a 
morning  in  April;  life  in  such  a  beautiful  world  as  this 
could  not  be  quite  as  black  and  hopeless  as  it  had  seemed 
to  Kitty  in  the  dark  watches  of  the  night. 

She  was  horrified  when  she  looked  in  her  mirror  to  see 
how  pale  and  sunken  her  cheeks  were;  how  lustreless  her 
eyes,  dragged  back  into  deep  hollows;  and  that  even  her 
hair,  Kitty's  chief  glory,  seemed  to  have  lost  half  its  curl 
and  burnished  gloss.  It  was  not  by  looking  worn  and 
haggard  and  ugly  that  Kitty  hoped  to  produce  the  effect 
upon  her  husband  that  she  intended.  She  knew  too  well 
that  it  was  her  beauty  that  had  attracted  him,  and  by  her 
beauty  she  must  hope  to  keep  her  hold  on  him.  Not  that 
she  intended  to  sue  for  his  favour.  No,  indeed!  The  role 
she  had  assigned  to  herself  was  one  of  stern  displeasure.  He 
was  to  be  taken  roundly  to  task,  and  if  he  had  any  fault  to 
find  with  her  he  was  to  be  given  no  chance  to  find  it.  His 
role,  as  laid  out  by  Kitty,  was  to  be  entirely  a  defensive  one, 
but  to  make  her  attack  effective  she  knew  she  needed  the 
adjunct  of  her  beauty.  She  set  vigourously  to  work, 
therefore,  to  make  herself  as  fresh  looking  and  as  beautiful 
as  possible  after  a  night  of  sleeplessness,  and  then  sat  down 
with  a  bit  of  dainty  sewing  to  await  her  husband's  coming. 

Kitty  had  courage,  but  she  could  not  keep  her  heart  from 
beating  faster  at  every  step  on  the  stair  that  she  thought 
might  prove  to  be  his.  In  order  to  have  Emmeline  out  of 
the  way  on  her  husband's  arrival  she  had  found  three 
separate  pretexts  to  send  her  on  errands  that  she  thought 


JOHN  MORLAND  141 

would  take  some  time  to  execute;  but  Emmeline,  as 
anxious  to  be  present  at  the  meeting  as  her  mistress  was 
anxious  to  have  her  absent,  hurried  through  each  errand 
with  incredible  despatch  for  a  slow-moving  negress,  and  so 
it  happened  that,  following  close  on  the  footsteps  of  the 
Lieutenant  as  he  slowly  mounted  the  stairs,  she  heard  his 
first  embarrassed  and  consequently  rather  surly: 

"Well!     How  do  you  do?" 

Now,  Kitty's  husband  had  never  before  left  her  for  so 
much  as  an  hour  without  the  tenderest  greeting  on  his 
return,  and  the  fact  that  he  made  no  attempt  to  kiss  her 
but  convinced  Kitty  that  there  was  really  something  very 
dreadful  the  matter,  and  hardened  her  heart  still  more 
against  him. 

"Very  well,  I  thank  you,"  she  answered  coldly,  without 
lifting  her  eyes  from  her  work,  where,  after  one  shocked 
glance  at  his  pale  face  and  lustreless  eyes,  they  had  fastened 
themselves. 

The  Lieutenant  fidgeted  a  moment,  and  then  inquired 
with  a  little  less  surliness: 

"Been  to  breakfast?" 

"  No,  I  have  been  waiting  for  you,"  said  Kitty,  speaking 
truthfully,  since  she  had  decided  that  appearances  must  be 
maintained  at  all  hazards,  and  that  when  her  husband 
came  in  they  would  present  themselves  together  at  the 
breakfast-table,  and  no  one  but  Emmeline  and  Morland 
would  ever  know  that  he  had  spent  the  night  away  from 
her.  But  her  husband  did  not  feel  equal  to  the  ordeal. 

"I  am  not  going  down.     I  'm  not  hungry,"  he  said. 

"Very  well,"  returned  Kitty,  who  was  too  proud  to  argue 
the  matter  with  him,  but  was  revolving  swiftly  in  her  mind 
various  expedients  for  still  saving  appearances. 


142  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Her  husband  glanced  angrily  at  Emmeline.  He  had 
fully  determined  to  have  it  out  with  Kitty,  and  for  her  sake 
as  well  as  his  own  he  wanted  no  third  person  present,  even 
one  who  counted  for  so  little  as  his  wife's  faithful  slave-girl. 

"Why  do  you  have  that  girl  forever  hanging  around?" 
he  demanded  irritably. 

Kitty  glanced  at  Emmeline,  but  the  girl  read  her  purpose 
in  her  mistress's  eyes.  She  was  terrified,  for  her  vivid 
imagination  pictured  Kitty  as  suffering  personal  violence 
at  the  hands  of  her  husband  if  she  were  not  there  to  protect 
her. 

"Marse  Will,"  she  exclaimed  quickly,  "I  done  promise 
ole  miss  I  tek  good  care  of  missie,  an'  ef  yoh  gwine  argify 
with  her,  don'  mind  me,  case  I  'se  bleeged  to  stay  close 
by  her." 

Kitty's  smiles  lay  very  close  to  her  tears,  and  she  could 
not  prevent  a  little  one  from  dimpling  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  at  the  ludicrous  picture  of  terror  Emmeline 
presented.  It  touched  her  a  little,  too,  as  another 
evidence  of  the  girl's  devotion  to  her,  for,  however 
unfounded  Emmeline's  fears  might  be,  Kitty  knew  they 
were  very  genuine  and  very  acute.  But  it  only  infuriated 
her  husband.  It  touched  neither  his  sense  of  humour  or 
of  pathos  that  he  should  be  suspected  of  wife-beating,  and 
he  was  about  to  order  the  girl  angrily  from  the  room, 
when  Kitty,  seeing  his  intention  and  knowing  how  useless 
it  would  be,  interposed. 

"Emmeline,"  she  said,  "go  downstairs  and  tell  Mrs. 
Black  that  Mr.  Sutherland  is  not  well  and  I  will  take  my 
breakfast  upstairs  with  him  this  morning.  You  will  wait 
and  bring  up  the  breakfast  yourself." 

There  was  a  new  note  of  command  in  Kitty's  voice  that 


JOHN  MORLAND  143 

Emmeline  did  not  dare  disobey.  She  retreated  slowly 
and  sullenly,  shaking  her  head  and  muttering  unintelli 
gibly.  As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  behind  her,  Kitty 
turned  to  her  husband: 

"Well?    What  did  you  wish  to  say  to  me?" 

The  Lieutenant  was  almost  as  effectually  cowed  as 
Emmeline  by  this  new  note  in  Kitty's  voice.  He  could 
only  save  his  dignity  by  bluster,  and  he  resorted  to  it  at 
once. 

"  It  is  rather  late  in  the  day,  madam,  for  me  to  be  hearing 
that  my  wife  has  been  married  before,  and  without  benefit 
of  clergy!  "  he  blurted  out  brutally. 

Kitty  was  so  young  she  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of 
"without  benefit  of  clergy,"  but  "married  before"  had  an 
awful  sound,  and  she  turned  deadly  pale.  Then  the 
colour  rushed  back  in  an  angry  flood,  as  she  perceived  that 
her  husband  had  been  hearing  some  dreadful  tale  of  her, 
and  forgetting  for  the  moment  that  there  could  ever  have 
been  even  the  slightest  foundation  for  such  a  story,  she  was 
in  a  blinding  rage  that  he  should  have  listened  to  such 
lying  scandal,  and  of  her.  She  was  speechless  for  a 
moment,  and  indeed  her  first  impulse  was  never  to  speak 
to  him  again  as  long  as  she  lived.  But  the  returning  wave 
of  passion  brought  her  voice  with  it. 

"Explain  yourself,  sir!"  she  demanded  with  cold  fury. 

Now,  the  Lieutenant  had  not  half  believed  what  he  had 
heard.  How  could  he,  when  he  remembered  his  artless 
young  bride!  And  at  this  moment  she  looked  to  him  the 
picture  of  innocence,  with  her  fearless  gray  eyes,  the  curling 
lashes  well  lifted,  looking  straight  into  his  shifting  black 
ones,  for,  try  as  he  might,  he  could  not  meet  Kitty's  direct 
glance  of  steel.  Nevertheless,  though  he  now  believed  that 


144  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

what  he  had  heard  was  all  a  lie,  he  was  obstinately  deter 
mined  to  make  his  wife  suffer  a  little  for  the  suffering  he 

O 

had  endured;  hoping  also  to  shift  the  blame  of  his  dis 
graceful  conduct  of  the  evening  before  from  his  own 
shoulders  to  hers,  and  thus  escape  the  lecture  he  dreaded, 
but  knew  he  deserved.  So  he  persisted,  and  by  way 
of  bolstering  up  his  rapidly  sinking  courage,  he  envenomed 
his  next  words  with  a  light  sneer  : 

"Perhaps  it  seemed  so  slight  a  matter  to  you  that  you 
have  entirely  forgotten  that  you  ever  spent  the  night  away 
from  home  with  a  young  man,  and  were  discovered  the  next 
morning  —  rather  an  afterthought,  it  seems  —  on  your 
way  to  a  priest's." 

There  must  have  been  something  of  the  brute  innate  in 
the  handsome  young  lieutenant  to  have  made  it  possible 
for  him  ever  to  have  uttered  such  words  to  his  young  wife, 
no  matter  what  the  provocation.  Kitty  never  forgave 
them.  She  did  not,  for  a  moment,  recognize  herself  in  his 
description,  and  so  far  beyond  the  truth  was  it  that  it  did 
not  even  suggest  to  her  the  very  slight  foundation  the 
story  might  have  claimed.  In  a  white  blaze  of  wrath 
she  turned  upon  her  husband.  She  was  of  splendid  pro 
portions,  and  now,  although  he  was  her  equal  in  height, 
it  seemed  to  him  that  she  towered  above  him,  her  figure 
dilating  with  passion,  her  eyes  flashing  flames,  while  the 
words  that  came  through  the  scarlet  curves  of  her  scornful 
lips  were  concentrated  fury:  cool,  clear,  incisive,  every  one 
a  dagger.  She  was  superb;  and  while  her  husband 
visibly  shrivelled  in  the  blaze  of  her  scorn,  he  admired  her 
greatly,  with  the  admiration  the  moral  coward  will  always 
feel  for  the  morally  fearless.  Thoroughly  subdued,  he 
began  a  muttered  apology. 


JOHN  MORLAND  145 

"You  need  never  attempt  an  apology  for  those  words," 
she  interrupted  him  superbly.  "Nothing  can  ever  atone 
for  them." 

"Oh,  Kitty,  forgive  me,"  he  begged  abjectly.  "How 
could  I  know  that  Miss  Dayton  was  lying?" 

He  had  not  expected  his  words  to  have  any  effect,  but  to 
his  amazement  Kitty  suddenly  quailed.  All  her  superb 
scorn  fell  from  her  like  a  mantle.  She  turned  white,  and 
whereas  she  had  begun  to  pace  the  room  with  the  free  and 
scornful  stride  of  an  enraged  panther,  she  now  sank 
breathless  into  a  chair. 

"  Miss  Dayton ! "  she  faltered.    • 

That  name  had  at  once  suggested  Montclair,  and  in  a 
flash  she  knew  the  whole  foundation  of  the  story,  and 
knew  that  she  must  confess  it  to  her  husband.  The 
memory  of  that  experience  had  become  so  hateful  to  her 
that,  sybarite  as  she  was  by  nature,  she  never  allowed  her 
self  to  think  about  it  and  had  indeed  almost  forgotten  it. 
She  believed  that  there  were  but  five  persons  in  the  world 
that  knew  of  it  —  herself  and  Montclair,  her  father  and 
mother,  and  Major  Morland.  She  had  believed  it  buried 
too  deep  for  any  resurrection,  for  she  could  not  think  that 
any  one  of  those  five  would  ever  bring  it  to  light;  certainly 
not  Montclair,  the  chief  culprit.  And  even  more  certainly 
not  one  of  the  others;  and  it  proves  how  the  simple  nobility 
of  John  Morland's  nature  had  impressed  itself  upon  Kitty, 
that  she  no  more  doubted  him  than  she  doubted  herself, 
although  he  was  the  only  one  of  the  five  that  did  not  have 
a  vital  personal  interest  in  keeping  it  quiet  —  or  so  Kitty 
thought. 

Now,  if  there  was  something  of  the  brute  in  the  Lieuten 
ant,  there  must  also  have  been  a  large  admixture  of  the 


146  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

gentleman,  for  no  sooner  did  he  see  Kitty  turn  white,  and, 
sinking  into  her  chair,  look  up  at  him  with  the  helpless 
appeal  of  terror  in  her  lovely  gray  eyes,  than  he  forgot  his 
wrath,  did  not  seem  to  realize  that  her  aspect  betokened 
guilt,  and  felt  only  a  rush  of  tenderness  toward  her. 

"Kitty,  Kitty!"  he  cried,  throwing  himself  down 
beside  her  and  attempting  to  take  her  hand.  But  she  drew 
her  hand  away  gently,  but  determinedly. 

"No,  Will,"  she  said,  "go  and  sit  down,  please,  just  as 
far  away  from  me  as  you  can  get.  I  have  something  to 
tell  you  that  I  see  now  I  should  have  told  you  long  ago." 

Her  husband  did  not  like  to  be  repulsed.  Was  he  not 
the  injured  party,  and  was  he  not  making  all  the  over 
tures  ?  It  was  as  little  as  his  wife  could  do  to  accept  them. 
He  sullenly  rose  from  his  knees,  and  took  the  seat  Kitty 
had  indicated.  White,  and  trembling  with  shame,  Kitty 
told  the  story  of  her  interrupted  elopement,  only,  with  her 
husband  as  with  her  parents,  suppressing  Montclair's 
name  and  suppressing,  also,  the  name  of  the  man  who  had 
interfered  to  save  her.  The  whole  story  was  hateful  to 
her,  and  it  was  especially  hateful  to  the  proud  Kitty  to 
be  telling  it  to  the  husband  whom  she  had  once  adored, 
and  who  she  could  readily  see  still  adored  her. 

Not  once  did  he  interrupt  her,  though  a  dull  red  slowly 
swept  over  his  face  as  Kitty's  low  tones  went  steadily  on. 
When  she  had  finished,  Sutherland  lo@ked  suddenly  up. 

"Was  it  Major  Morland?"  he  asked  with  such  vindic- 
tiveness  in  voice  and  eye  that  Kitty  hastened  to  answer: 

" Major  Morland !  Oh,  no!  no!  How  could  you  think 
that?" 

"Does  Major  Morland  know  about  it  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Kitty  reluctantly. 


JOHN  MORLAND  147 

"Then,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  conviction  in  his  voice, 
"  if  Major  Morland  was  not  the  villain,  he  is  the  one  who 
has  betrayed  the  story." 

But  Kitty  cried  "no,  no!"  again  with  redoubled  eager 
ness.  It  was  impossible  that  Morland  could  have  been 
guilty  of  such  a  breach  of  confidence,  and  still  more  imposs 
ible  that  he  who  knew  the  whole  truth  could  wilfully  have 
falsified  and  exaggerated  it  to  Kitty's  hurt.  But  her  hus 
band  was  not  to  be  convinced.  He  had  developed  an  un 
reasoning  jealousy  of  Morland,  and  with  the  strange 
contrariety  of  a  small  nature,  the  fact  that  Morland  had 
shown  himself  a  helpful  friend  in  his  disgrace  of  the 
evening  before,  instead  of  winning  his  gratitude,  won  only 
bitter  suspicion  of  his  motives. 

It  had  seemed,  at  the  moment  that  Kitty  quailed  in  terror 
before  her  husband,  that  the  two  might  easily  get  back  to 
their  old  terms  before  the  evening  at  Kalorama.  But 
now,  in  this  contest  over  Morland,  Sutherland  violently 
accusing  him  and  Kitty  even  more  stubbornly  defending 
him,  they  were  as  far  apart  as  ever.  The  Lieutenant's 
nerves  were  in  the  state  to  be  expected  after  such  a  night, 
and  it  did  not  take  many  minutes  of  this  altercation  over 
Morland  to  make  them  give  way  altogether.  With  a 
weak  cry,  "Oh,  Kitty,  you  do  not  love  me!"  he  suddenly 
turned,  and  throwing  his  arms  on  the  table  beside  him, 
buried  his  face  in  them  and  sobbed  aloud. 

Now,  weakness  in  a  man  made  little  or  no  appeal  to  Kitty. 
It  was  strength  she  loved,  and  such  a  childish  display  as 
this  roused  rather  her  scorn  than  her  pity.  Moreover,  she 
recognized  that  his  sobs  were  not  so  much  due  to  over 
powering  emotion  as  to  the  after  effects  of  over-stimulation, 
which  added  the  element  of  disgust  to  her  scorn.  There- 


148  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

fore  at  first  her  lips  curled  and  her  eyes  hardened.  Yet,  as 
she  watched  the  black  and  curly  head  that  she  had  loved, 
bowed  in  grief,  even  though  it  were  the  grief  of  a  weakling, 
and  the  slender  boyish  figure,  that  had  been  her  admira 
tion,  shaken  with  sobs,  the  hardness  melted  from  her  eyes 
and  her  lips  softened  into  gentler  curves. 

At  that  moment  Emmeline  entered,  bearing  a  huge 
breakfast-tray,  containing  everything  to  be  found  on  Mrs. 
Black's  elaborate  menu.  The  presence  of  the  black  girl 
was  but  small  restraint  to  either  of  them;  nevertheless 
Sutherland  hardly  liked  to  appear  in  the  role  of  a  weeping 
man,  even  before  his  wife's  slave  girl,  and  he  attempted  to 
control  his  sobs.  Kitty  motioned  to  Emmeline  to  set  down 
the  tray  and  leave  the  room,  and  the  girl,  seeing  that  her 
mistress  "  had  the  upper  hand,"  as  she  phrased  it  to  herself, 
no  longer  feared  for  her  and  was  nothing  loath  to  obey. 

Kitty  poured  out  a  cup  of  coffee  and  took  it  over  to  her 
husband.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  curls  caressingly,  as 
she  might  have  done  with  a  naughty  child. 

"Will,"  she  said,  with  gentle  firmness,  "you  must  drink 
this  coffee  and  you  will  feel  better.  You  are  not  well." 

His  wife's  cool,  firm  voice  seemed  to  act  like  a  tonic  on 
Sutherland.  His  sobs  ceased  entirely,  he  lifted  his  head, 
took  the  cup  from  her  hand  and  drank  it  obediently. 

"And  now,"  continued  Kitty,  when  she  had  watched  him 
drain  his  cup,  "I  am  going  to  mother's.  She  is  expecting 
me,  and  if  I  am  not  there  by  ten  o'clock  she  will  come  here, 
and  I  do  not  think  you  would  like  that  any  more  than  I 
would." 

Sutherland  looked  up  at  her  with  startled  eyes  as  she 
said  she  was  going  to  her  mother's,  and  Kitty  answered  the 
look  with  good-natured  contempt. 


JOHN  MORLAND  149 

"  No,  I  'm  not  going  to  '  tell ' ;  but  mother  is  anxious  to 
hear  about  the  dinner,  and  I  shall  give  her  a  full  account  of 
the  grand  time  we  had  last  night.  I  shall  tell  her  what 
everybody  wore  and  everything  that  Clay  and  Webster  and 
the  British  Ambassador  said  to  me." 

And  then  for  the  first  time  Kitty  weakened.  As  a  wave 
of  recollection  of  her  mother's  bright  anticipations  for  the 
evening  swept  over  her,  her  lip  quivered. 

"Poor  mother!"  she  murmured,  and  turned  quickly 
away  to  hide  from  her  husband  the  tears  that  had  sprung 
to  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE 

MORLAND  kept  his  resolve  of  seeing  but  little  of 
Kitty  better  than  such  resolves  are  often  kept. 
But  then  Morland  was  a  man  who  always  kept  his  promises, 
even  if  they  were  made  only  to  himself.  He  did  not  make 
them  readily,  nor  did  he  break  them  lightly. 

It  might  have  been  supposed  to  be  a  little  difficult,  also  — 
this  keeping  to  his  resolve  —  since  very  shortly  after  the 
dinner  at  Kalorama  he  had  gone  back  to  his  old  rooms 
at  McCabe's.  General  Jackson  was  already  established 
there  —  he  had  only  stayed  at  Gadsby's  until  there  should 
be  a  room  vacant  for  him  at  McCabe  's  —  and  Morland 
only  waited  for  another  vacancy  to  follow  him.  He  wanted 
to  be  near  his  chief,  in  easy  communication  with  him  at 
any  hour  of  the  day  or  night,  for  that  was  an  exciting  spring 
to  the  old  General  and  his  friends  —  the  spring  of  his  first 
presidential  campaign  —  and  of  all  his  friends  in  Wash 
ington,  Morland  was  by  far  the  closest. 

And  it  might  have  been  supposed  to  add  still  further  to 
Morland's  difficulties  in  keeping  that  resolution,  that  very 
shortly  after  he  took  up  his  abode  at  McCabe's,  Kitty 
herself,  with  her  husband,  went  home  to  live.  There  were 
several  reasons  for  this  step:  one  was  that  Kitty  could  be 
far  more  comfortable  at  home  than  in  the  ordinary  Wash 
ington  boarding-house ;  and  another  was  that  both  Kitty's 
mother  and  father  were  desirous  to  help  the  Lieutenant  eke 

150 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    151 

out  his  rather  slender  salary  by  offering  a  home  for  himself 
and  Kitty  —  and  the  Lieutenant  was  nothing  loath. 

It  was  Kitty  who  made  the  difficulties.  It  hurt  her  pride 
that  having  married  she  should  come  to  live  on  her  parents. 
Nor  did  she  believe  that  relief  from  responsibility  would  be 
good  for  her  husband,  as  she  felt  morally  certain  the  money 
thus  saved  would  be  instantly  dissipated.  Most  of  all 
she  dreaded  her  mother's  knowledge  of  his  weaknesses,  and 
she  foresaw  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  hide  them  from 
her.  But  she  was  only  one  against  three,  and  though 
usually  Kitty  could  easily  stand  out  successfully  against 
three  or  more  when  it  was  a  matter  of  having  her  own  way, 
she  was  not  at  this  time  in  her  usual  spirits;  she  was  listless, 
and  her  courage,  or  combative  spirit,  which  ever  it  might 
be  called,  was  at  its  lowest  point. 

But,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  were  living  in  the  same 
house,  Morland  saw  little  of  Kitty.  She  did  not  come  into 
the  dining-room,  and  he  went  but  seldom  to  Mrs. 
McCabe's  parlor.  He  had  every  excuse  for  this  in  the 
almost  overwhelming  demands  Jackson's  campaign,  which 
had  set  in  in  earnest  with  the  coming  of  spring,  made  upon 
him.  Yet  he  found  time,  in  the  multiplicity  of  political 
engagements,  to  carry  out  his  other  resolution  of  cultivating 
a  friendship  with  the  Lieutenant.  He  had  him  frequently 
in  his  room  to  smoke  an  after-dinner  cigar,  and  often  in  the 
morning,  before  he  was  due  at  the  Capitol,  he  called  Suther 
land  upstairs,  on  the  pretext  of  asking  his  assistance  in 
sorting  papers  or  copying  letters.  He  had  concluded  the 
Lieutenant  had  too  much  idle  time  on  his  hands;  he  would 
give  him  an  interest  in  life  that  might  work  out  his  salvation 
and  make  a  man  of  him.  Whether  it  would  finally  prove 
efficacious  or  not,  for  the  present  it  seemed  to  work  well. 


152  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

The  Lieutenant  entered  with  enthusiasm  into  the  business 
of  the  campaign,  and  became  as  devoted  to  Morland  as 
for  a  while  he  had  seemed  to  be  suspicious  and  distrustful 
of  him. 

He  and  Kitty  had  patched  up  their  trouble.  Perhaps 
Sutherland  did  not  know  it  was  only  a  patch;  no  doubt  he 
believed  the  fabric  of  their  love  had  been  woven  together 
again  as  firmly  as  if  there  had  never  been  a  break  in  it; 
but  to  Kitty  there  was  ever  present  in  her  thoughts  the 
hideous  rent,  only  covered  from  sight  by  the  patch,  whose 
weak  stitches  might  at  any  moment  give  way.  All  the 
glow  of  the  honeymoon  had  faded,  for  to  a  nature  like 
Kitty's  the  discovery  that  she  had  married  a  weakling  was 
the  severest  disappointment  that  could  befall  her.  More 
over,  her  pride  was  incurably  hurt.  She  could  not  but 
perceive  that  her  husband  did  not  wholly  believe  her 
version  of  that  early  elopement;  sometimes,  in  spite  of  his 
passionate  adoration  of  her,  which  had  in  no  whit 
diminished,  she  discovered  signs  of  a  weak  distrust  and 
suspicion. 

Occasionally  at  such  times  he  had  even  hinted  that  it  was 
possible  Miss  Dayton's  version  of  the  story  might  not  be 
wholly  false ;  hints  which  Kitty  proudly  ignored,  but  which 
she  could  not  forgive.  If  there  was  one  pride  a  little  more 
towering  in  Kitty  than  any  other,  it  was  pride  of  her  word. 
The  slightest  impeachment  of  her  veracity  was  to  her  the 
unpardonable  sin,  and  it  was  a  sin  her  husband  had  com 
mitted  more  than  once. 

Nevertheless,  outwardly  all  was  serene  in  their  relations. 
Kitty  had  many  kinds  of  pride,  and  one  was  not  to  let  the 
world  know  that  she  was  not  as  ineffably  happy  as  she  had 
been  in  the  first  days  of  her  marriage.  With  the  finality 


JOHN  MORLAND  153 

of  youth  she  concluded  that  all  marriages  were  probably 
as  little  satisfactory  as  her  own,  but  since  the  married 
people  of  her  acquaintance  did  not  air  their  grievances  in 
public,  but  seemed  to  jog  along  together  very  comfortably, 
she  would  be  "game"  too,  and  hide  her  troubles  from  the 
world.  The  world  included  her  mother,  or  rather,  was 
most  of  all  her  mother,  and  here  it  was  not  alone  Kitty's 
pride  that  urged  her  to  concealment;  it  was  a  new-born 
tenderness  and  consideration  for  the  mother,  who,  she  now 
began  to  perceive,  would  suffer  more  acutely  in  her 
daughter's  sorrows  than  in  her  own. 

But  if  Kitty  thought  she  had  effectually  concealed  her 
troubles  from  her  mother,  then  she  had  not  yet  learned  the 
almost  preternatural  keenness  of  a  mother's  mental  vision, 
or  preternatural  sensitiveness  to  atmospheres  where  a  child 
is  concerned.  Mrs.  McCabe  knew  that  the  Kitty  who  sat 
and  sewed  with  her  in  the  mornings  in  her  pleasant  parlour, 
while  the  sweet  spring  air  came  through  the  open  windows 
and  gently  stirred  the  muslin  curtains,  was  not  the  light- 
hearted  Kitty,  bubbling  over  with  happiness,  that  had 
been  used  to  spend  the  mornings  with  her  there  before  that 
dinner  at  Kalorama. 

Indeed,  it  was  from  that  dinner  she  very  accurately  dated 
the  change  in  her.  Kitty  had  gone  up  to  see  her  mother 
the  morning  after,  as  she  had  told  her  husband  she  must, 
and  had  spent  an  hour  in  relating  every  bit  of  gossip  con 
nected  with  the  evening  that  she  thought  would  interest 
her.  She  had  dwelt  particularly  upon  the  gallantry  of  the 
British  Ambassador,  the  kindness  her  charming  hostess 
had  shown  her,  and  the  attentions  with  which  Clay  and 
Webster  had  distinguished  her;  all  of  which  she  knew 
would  delight  her  mother.  But  her  mother  felt  that  the 


154  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

gay  recital  rang  a  little  false,  and  in  the  days  that  followed 
this  intangible  cloud  that  had  dimmed  Kitty's  bright  eyes 
seemed  to  her  rather  to  grow  deeper  than  to  prove,  as  she 
had  hoped,  a  passing  cloud.  It  was  one  of  the  reasons 
why  she  had  insisted  that  Kitty  and  her  husband  should 
come  home.  Whatever  the  trouble  —  and  she  did  not 
intend  to  pry  into  Kitty's  affairs,  or  make  an  effort  to 
discover  a  cause  for  the  loss  of  her  light-heartedness  —  she 
believed  that  the  brightness  it  should  be  her  constant 
endeavour  to  throw  around  Kitty,  and  the  sense  of  a 
mother's  strong,  sustaining  love  that  she  should  manage 
to  unostentatiously  communicate  to  her,  could  riot  help 
but  cheer  and  comfort  this  idolized  child,  no  matter  what 
had  gone  wrong. 

She  found  that  she  had  judged  rightly,  in  a  measure. 
Insensibly  Kitty's  face  brightened  and  she  seemed  more 
like  the  happy-hearted,  care-free  girl  of  old.  Mrs. 
McCabe's  own  spirits  visibly  rose  with  Kitty's.  She 
began  to  believe  she  had  been  wrong  in  thinking  there 
had  ever  been  any  trouble,  and  she  took  herself  roundly  to 
task  for  having  given  way  to  weak  and  panicky  imaginings. 
And  then,  suddenly,  into  this  new  sense  of  security  and 
happiness  that  was  giving  Mrs.  McCabe  back  her  youth 
in  giving  her  back  her  light-hearted  daughter,  there  fell 
a  thunderbolt  from  a  clear  sky. 

The  spring  was  fast  deepening  into  summer,  and  with 
the  Lieutenant  down  at  the  Navy  Yard  attending  to  his  own 
affairs,  or  up  at  the  Capitol  helping  Major  Morland  with 
the  arduous  business  of  the  campaign,  it  came  to  be  a 
habit  with  mother  and  daughter  to  take  long  walks 
together.  Mrs.  McCabe  had  all  an  Englishwoman's 
fondness  for  walking  and,  if  Kitty  had  not  fully  inherited 


JOHN  MORLAND  155 

/ 

it,  her  mother  thought  it  better  exercise  for  her  than  riding 
or  driving,  and  Kitty  at  this  period  was  unwontedly  docile 
to  all  her  mother's  suggestions. 

It  was  the  fifth  of  May,  and  it  had  been  very  warm,  even 
for  a  Washington  May  day,  and  so  they  had  deferred  their 
walk  until  rather  late  in  the  afternoon.  The  charm 
of  the  springtime  —  blossoming  hedges,  and  fresh 
green  foliage,  and  air  heavy  laden  with  a  thousand  sweet 
odours,  and  throbbing  with  the  spring  songs  of  mating 
birds  —  drew  them  irresistibly  to  country  roads,  and 
almost  before  they  knew  it  they  stood  on  the  banks 
of  Rock  Creek  where  the  ford  crossed  it  which  had 
proved  itself  a  mischief-making  ford  on  the  night  of 
the  dance  at  Brown's,  and  thrown  Kitty  into  Montclair's 
willing  arms. 

It  is  not  probable  that  Kitty  recalled  that  incident  at 
this  moment;  life  had  become  too  real  and  too  absorbing 
of  late  for  any  early  experiences  to  have  retained  their 
vividness  for  her.  Just  below  the  ford  was  one  of  the 
deepest  pools  on  the  creek,  where  the  stream  narrowed  so 
that  the  overhanging  oaks  and  maples  interlaced  their 
branches  from  the  opposite  banks  which  were  at  this  time 
of  the  year  covered  with  a  carpet  of  purple  violets,  gor 
geous  to  the  eye,  deep  and  soft  as  velvet  pile  to  the  foot, 
and  fragrant  as  an  English  violet  bank.  It  had  been  a 
favourite  spot  with  Kitty  in  her  childhood,  but  she  had 
not  visited  it  for  years.  The  restrictions  of  boarding- 
school  life  were  responsible  for  that,  and  now,  catching  a 
gleam  of  the  brilliant  purple  under  the  trees,  she  uttered 
a  cry  of  delight. 

"  Come,  mother,"  she  exclaimed,  seizing  her  hand  and 
dragging  her  along  with  all  the  hurry  and  excitement  of  a 


156  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

child  who  fears  her  treasure  will  escape  her  if  she  lingers  a 
moment. 

She  threw  herself  down  on  the  purple  bank,  and  buried 
her  face  in  the  fragrant  flowers  with  girlish  abandon,  while 
her  mother  sat  beside  her  and  watched  her  with  happy 
eyes.  When  she  lifted  her  head,  her  face  was  flushed,  her 
eyes  were  sparkling;  her  hat  had  fallen  back  and  her 
chestnut  curls  had  fallen  forward  over  her  face  in  a 
bewildering  tangle.  She  might  easily  be  the  little  Kitty 
that  had  presented  herself  in  the  dining-room  four  years 
before  and  roused  her  father's  wrath.  It  was  of  that  very 
day  she  was  thinking,  and  it  was  that  thought  that  had 
brought  the  sparkle  and  glow  of  a  child  to  her  face. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  happily,  "do  you  know  the  last  time 
I  was  here  ?  It  was  that  afternoon  Emmeline  and  I  were 
fishing,  and  we  took  off  our  shoes  and  stockings  and  went 
wading  in  the  creek;  and  then  had  to  go  home  barefooted 
because  we  dropped  them  in  the  water  and  they  were  so 
wet  we  could  n't  put  them  on  again.  And  father  was  so 
angry  with  me  because  I  went  in  to  see  General  Jackson 
without  stopping  to  fix  —  do  you  remember,  mother?" 

Mrs.  McCabe  remembered  very  well.  It  seemed  to  her, 
in  looking  back,  that  that  was  the  last  day  of  Kitty's 
childhood,  and  how  intensely  at  this  moment  she  longed  to 
put  her  little  Kitty  back  to  that  day  once  more.  She 
remembered  how  quickly  on  its  heels  had  followed  the 
dance  at  Georgetown,  the  attempted  elopement,  boarding- 
school,  and  her  separation  from  her  daughter,  and  then, 
marriage!  Oh,  yes,  she  remembered  only  too  well.  But 
Kitty  was  thinking  of  none  of  these  things  for  the  moment. 
For  the  moment  she  was  virtually  the  child  Kitty  once 
more,  and  she  said  happily: 


JOHN  MORLAND  157 

"To-morrow  I  believe  I  will  bring  Emmeline  and  go 
fishing  again  —  yes,  and  wading,  too,  if  you  '11  come  along, 
mother,  and  stand  guard  to  keep  off  intruders." 

She  laughed  at  the  thought,  the  rippling,  joyous  laugh 
of  childhood  that  her  mother  had  not  heard  for  years,  and 
so  lost  was  she  in  the  joy  of  watching  Kitty  and  listening 
to  her  happy  babble  that  it  was  Kitty  who  first  discovered 
that  twilight  had  fallen  under  the  shade  of  the  overarching 

o  o 

trees,  and  they  must  make  haste  indeed  if  they  would  be 
home  before  dark. 

It  was  not  so  far  by  the  short  cuts  Kitty  knew,  and  they 
were  soon  in  sight  of  McCabe's  Tavern ;  but  the  latter  part 
of  the  way  Kitty  had  lost  all  her  happy  sparkle,  and  now, 
as  they  came  in  sight  of  home  and  the  lights  streaming 
palely  from  the  windows  into  the  rosy  afterglow,  she  said 
soberly  enough: 

"Mother,  do  you  think  there  is  a  definite  time,  a  day  or 
an  hour,  when  childhood  ends  and  womanhood  begins?" 

It  was  the  very  question  that  Mrs.  McCabe  had  been 
conning,  but  she  answered  guardedly: 

"I  should  hardly  think  so,  daughter.  I  should  think 
it  must  be  by  insensible  gradations  that  we  pass  from  one 
to  the  other,  unless  —  sometimes  —  there  might  be  an 
epoch-making  event  in  one's  life  that  would  sweep  one 
suddenly  over  the  boundary  line." 

Kitty  sighed  lightly. 

"What  is  it,  Kitty?"  Mrs.  McCabe  strove  to  keep  all 
excess  of  sympathy  out  of  her  tones.  She  was  trying  to 
act  as  a  tonic  for  this  dearly  loved  child,  and  her  role  was 
to  be  inspiriting  and  invigorating,  if  possible,  even  at  the 
expense  of  the  tenderness  she  so  longed  to  show. 

Kitty  hesitated  a  moment,  but  only  a  moment. 


158  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"I  think,  mother,"  she  said,  slowly,  "that  night  of  the 
dancing-school  at  Brown's  Hotel  in  Georgetown  was  an 
epoch-making  night  for  me.  I  think  I  crossed  the 
boundary  then." 

Her  mother  could  not  answer.  She  thought  so,  too.  And 
for  a  moment  such  a  wave  of  regret  swept  over  her,  such 
longing  to  put  time  back  and  blot  that  fateful  evening  out 
of  her  child's  life,  that  it  well-nigh  overcame  her,  and  she 
dared  not  trust  her  voice. 

And  at  that  moment  out  of  the  blue  fell  the  bolt. 

There  was  an  unsteady  step  behind  them,  and 
suddenly  in  the  dusk  a  hand  grasped  Kitty's  arm  none  too 
gently. 

"Whatchudoin'  out  at  this  time  ov  night,  Kitty?"  said 
a  thick  voice. 

Kitty  was  startled.  She  uttered  a  half-suppressed 
scream  and  sprang  loose  from  the  clutch  on  her  arm.  Her 
scream  and  her  avoidance  of  him  angered  Sutherland,  and 
he  was  not  himself. 

"Whatchu  mean!  you  fool!"  he  shouted  roughly,  and 
advanced  toward  her. 

Kitty  did  not  scream  this  time,  but  even  in  the  rapidly 
falling  dusk  her  mother  could  see  that  she  turned  deadly 
pale.  She  put  out  an  arm  to  support  Kitty,  fearing  that 
she  would  fall,  but  the  movement  was  the  match  to  Suther 
land's  inflammable  temper.  He  pushed  rudely  between 
his  wife  and  her  mother  to  separate  them,  and  used  more 
strength  than  he  knew.  Mrs.  McCabe  staggered  back, 
but  Kitty  fell  to  the  ground.  Her  nerves  were  in  no  con 
dition  to  stand  a  shock  of  this  kind ;  in  a  moment  she  was 
in  violent  hysteria,  uttering  one  piercing  scream  after 
another.  Her  husband  was  sobered  in  an  instant,  and  on 


JOHN  MORLAND  159 

his  knees  beside  her,  imploring  her  to  forgive  him,  calling 
himself  every  vile  name,  and  using  every  endearing  term 
to  her,  but  not  once  daring  to  touch  her.  Kitty  lay  in  her 
mother's  arms,  who  held  her  in  a  strong  and  tender  clasp, 
murmuring  over  her  and  soothing  her  as  she  would  a  baby. 

"There,  Kitty!  It 's  all  right,  darling!  Will  did  not 
mean  it,  mother's  precious.  He  loves  you,  Kitty;  he 
would  not  hurt  you  for  the  world.  My  little  darling! 
My  baby!" 

Gradually  her  voice,  strong  and  cheerful,  and  the  firm 
clasp  of  her  arms,  reached  the  citadel  of  Kitty's  senses, 
and  the  screams  began  to  subside.  It  was  dusk,  and  the 
little  side-street,  through  which  they  were  making  a  short 
cut,  was  deserted;  the  nearest  house  was  McCabe's 
Tavern,  and  so  this  piteous  spectacle  had  had  no  curious 
onlookers.  But  now,  as  Kitty  began  to  get  control  of  her 
self,  and  her  screams  died  away  into  low  moanings,  there 
came  through  the  door  of  McCabe's  a  dark  figure,  and 
hurried  towards  them.  He  came  upon  them  all  unob 
served  by  the  three,  so  deeply  were  they  absorbed  in  their 
own  emotions,  and  found  Kitty  still  lying  on  the  ground  in 
her  mother's  arms,  half  sobbing,  half  moaning,  and  Suther 
land  still  on  his  knees  beside  her,  pouring  out  a  torrent  of 
penitent  prayers  and  self-revilings. 

"My  God,  Mrs.  McCabe,  what  does  this  mean?"  he 
exclaimed  in  a  low  tone. 

Mrs.  McCabe  looked  up  startled,  and  for  a  moment 
displeased  that  there  should  be  any  outsider  present,  even 
so  kindly  a  one  as  she  knew  Morland  to  be.  Then  she 
answered  brightly: 

"It's  nothing,  Major,  though  it  sounded  like  a  great 
deal.  Will  came  up  behind  us  in  the  dark  and  frightened 


160  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Kitty  into  hysterics.  But  you  're  all  right  now,  are  n't 
you,  Kitty?" 

Kitty's  "Yes"  was  hardly  audible,  but  she  struggled 
to  rise. 

Morland  had  cast  one  swift,  suspicious  glance  at 
Sutherland,  still  on  his  knees  "drivelling,"  as  he  named  it 
to  himself,  and  then  he  sprang  to  help  Kitty  to  her  feet, 
for  still  her  husband  dared  not  touch  her.  Kitty, 
exhausted  by  the  violence  of  the  hysteria,  was  supported 
on  either  side  by  her  mother  and  Morland  to  the  door  of  the 
tavern,  her  husband  following  meekly  behind.  But  at  the 
door  Morland  stopped  and  called  sharply  to  the  Lieutenant: 

"Here,  Sutherland,  help  your  wife  into  the  house!" 

It  was  a  serious  defect  in  the  construction  of  the  house 
that  the  only  entrance  —  unless  one  went  around  through 
the  door  of  the  kitchen,  swarming  with  gossip-loving  blacks 
—  was  into  that  great  dining-hall,  likely  at  this  hour  of 
the  evening  to  be  rapidly  filling  up  with  the  habitue's  of  the 
card-tables.  Morland  knew  it  would  never  do  for  Kitty 
to  pass  through  that  room  supported  by  any  other  man 
than  her  husband.  He  watched  the  Lieutenant  awkwardly 
take  his  place,  and  then  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode 
swiftly  off  toward  his  old  refuge  on  the  slopes  of  Capitol 
Hill. 

In  Mrs.  McCabe's  pleasant  parlour,  lying  on  a  luxurious 
couch,  Kitty  was  mothered  and  petted,  soothed  with  cool 
ing  drinks,  and  cheered  with  comforting  broths,  mother 
and  husband  hovering  around  her  with  loving  little  atten 
tions,  until  the  colour  began  to  come  back  to  her  cheek  and 
the  smile  to  her  eye. 

"I  'm  a  great  baby,"  she  said,  looking  up  fondly  at  her 
mother,  "and  I  'm  dreadfully  ashamed!" 


JOHN  MORLAND  161 

"And  you  forgive  me,  Kitty?"  Sutherland  broke  in, 
eager  to  seize  the  first  moment  of  returning  happiness. 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  forgive  you,"  said  Kitty,  looking  away 
from  her  mother  and  letting  her  glance  fall  rather  wearily 
on  her  husband.  "Of  course  I  know  you  did  n't  mean  it, 
Will." 

Her  husband  seized  the  hand  drooping  over  the  side  of 
the  couch,  and  covered  it  with  repentant  kisses,  mingled 
with  some  half-maudlin  tears. 

Kitty  submitted  patiently,  too  patiently,  her  mother 
thought,  who  was  watching  her  anxiously.  Sutherland's 
repentance  was  genuine,  there  was  no  doubt  about  that, 
and  so  when  it  came  time  for  them  to  go  upstairs  to  their 
own  room  Mrs.  McCabe  was  not  afraid  to  trust  Kitty 
to  him.  For  this  night,  at  least,  no  husband  could  be 
tenderer  than  he  would  be. 

But  hours  after  the  young  husband  and  the  young  wife 
had  forgotten  their  sins  and  their  wrongs  in  the  sleep  that 
always  comes  to  youth,  the  mother  was  lying  awake,  her 
ears  pierced  again  by  those  dreadful  screams,  and  her 
heart  more  cruelly  pierced  by  the  awful  knowledge  that 
had  come  upon  her  so  suddenly. 

Kitty  had  married  a  drunkard !  And  in  her  heart  Kitty 
no  longer  loved  her  husband;  with  difficulty  she  endured 
him. 

Long  and  sleepless  and  terrible  are  the"  nights  that 
lie  before  the  mother  who  has  come  into  such  bitter 
knowledge. 


CHAPTER  V 

ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  KANAWHA 

THAT  summer  of  1824  was  the  busiest,  the  most 
rushing,  the  most  absorbing,  that  Morland  had 
heretofore  known. 

It  was  the  long  session  of  Congress,  but  by  the  first  of 
June,  fully  a  month  before  it  could  end,  both  Jackson  and 
Morland  decided  that  campaign  affairs  demanded  their 
presence  in  Tennessee.  They  would  get  a  leave  of  absence 
or  take  it  —  it  did  not  much  matter  which. 

They  were  to  make  the  long  journey  together  on  horse 
back,  and  the  early  days  of  June  saw  them  riding  under 
leafy  arches,  over  woodland  roads  gay  with  wild  azalea  and 
wild  rose,  swimming  rushing  fords  and  climbing  steep  and 
picturesque  mountain  passes.  It  was  a  journey  just  to  the 
hearts  of  the  two  men  who  both  loved  the  outdoor  world 
unspoiled  by  the  hand  of  man.  At  night  they  slept  in 
whatever  cabin  or  mansion  they  found  themselves  nearest, 
for  no  man  denied  them  food  and  shelter,  and  every  man, 
the  rudest  mountaineer  or  the  most  cultured  civilian,  was 
proud  indeed  to  play  host  to  the  great  Hero  of  New 
Orleans. 

Morland  had  his  man  with  him,  his  trusty  black  Jeff, 
without  whom  he  never  stirred ;  and  Jeff  acted  as  valet, 
groom  and  body-guard  both  to  the  old  General  and  himself. 
Jeff  was  no  more  of  a  restraint  to  conversation  than  Kitty's 
Emmeline,  and  on  those  long  rides  through  the  golden 

162 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    163 

June  days,  up  the  beautiful  Shenandoah  valley  and  along 
the  Kanawha  to  the  mountains  of  eastern  Tennessee,  there 
were  not  many  subjects  in  heaven  or  earth  that  they  did 
not  touch  upon. 

Chiefly,  of  course,  their  talk  was  of  the  campaign  and 
their  plans  for  the  summer's  work. 

"Well,"  said  Morland,  as  they  were  riding  quietly 
through  a  narrow  mountain  defile,  the  clear,  brown  water 
of  the  Kanawha  dancing  noisily  over  its  rocky  bed  a  few 
feet  below  them,  and  the  high  hills  on  either  side,  verdure 
clad  to  their  summits,  throwing  their  path  into  grateful 
shade  although  it  was  only  a  little  past  noon,  "Well,  this 
is  a  beautiful  country  and  a  beautiful  valley,  and  it  leads 
straight  up  to  that  little  town  in  Pennsylvania  where  your 
Presidential  bark  was  launched." 

"What  little  town?  What  do  you  mean?"  asked 
Jackson,  who  for  the  moment  did  not  understand 
Morland. 

"You  know  what  we  Democrats  say,"  returned  Morland. 
"'As  Pennsylvania  goes,  so  goes  the  Union/  and  Penn 
sylvania  was  supposed  to  be  solid  for  Calhoun.  In  Penn 
sylvania  they  have  still  another  saying:  'As  old  Mother 
Cumberland  goes,  so  goes  the  State,'  and  down  in  the 
county  seat  of  Cumberland  the  town  fathers  had  met  in 
solemn  conclave  to  put  Calhoun  in  nomination.  They 
had  arranged  all  the  preliminaries,  and  were  just  about  to 
take  the  final  step,  when  a  gentleman  arose  quietly  and  said : 
'Suppose  we  nominate  Jackson  instead.'  In  a  moment  the 
meeting  was  in  an  uproar  of  delight  and  you  were 
nominated  with  wild  acclamations.  As  soon  as  Harris- 
burg  and  Philadelphia  heard  what  Carlisle  had  done  they 
rushed  to  do  likewise.  The  Jackson  wave  swept  the  state 


164  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

and  Calhoun  was  n't  thought  of  again  except  for  second 
place.  The  men  of  Carlisle  are  very  proud  of  being  the 
first  in  the  field,  and  they  claim  if  you  are  elected  it  will  be 
all  their  doing.  And  they  insist  more  proudly  than  ever  — 
'As  old  Mother  Cumberland  goes,  so  goes  the  State!' 
But  surely  you  have  heard  the  story  before  ?"  scanning  the 
General  keenly  and  a  little  incredulously. 

The  General's  eye  was  twinkling. 

"Yes,  I  've  heard  it  before,  but  I  like  to  hear  you  tell  it," 
he  said  with  a  glance  of  affection  at  the  younger  man. 
"It 's  a  pleasant  thing  to  hear  one's  own  praises  so  well 
sung." 

"It 's  a  wonderful  thing,  sir,  to  stir  men's  hearts  as  you 
do,"  said  Morland  almost  solemnly.  "From  the  Alle- 
ghanies  to  the  Gulf  this  whole  broad  land  is  ringing  with 
your  name.  I  wonder  how  you  feel!" 

"It  is  wonderful,"  returned  the  other  simply.  "I  do 
not  often  realize  it,  but  when  I  do  I  feel  very  proud  of  the 
love  of  my  fellow  citizens  and  very  grateful  to  my  Maker 
that  He  has  given  it  to  me." 

Morland  looked  up  at  the  rugged  old  soldier,  towering 
above  him,  with  an  air  of  deference  that  came  near  to  being 
reverence.  He  was  half-way  through  his  thirties  and 
Jackson  was  only  just  entering  on  his  fifties,  so  the  dif 
ference  in  their  ages  could  not  have  been  very  great,  but 
Jackson  was  broken  by  the  hardships  of  a  soldier's  life, 
and  still  more  broken  by  the  wounds  he  bore  about  him 
from  his  early  duels,  while  Morland  was  one  of  those  rarely 
endowed  men  who  have  received  the  gift  of  perennial  youth. 
To  the  old  General  he  would  never  be  anything  but  a  boy, 
and  Morland  regarded  Jackson  with  an  affection  that  was 
genuinely  filial. 


JOHN  MORLAND  165 

It  was  this  feeling  that  he  entertained  for  him  that  pre 
vented  his  taking  umbrage  at  the  old  soldier's  next  remark. 

"John,"  said  Jackson  bluntly,  and  apparently  irrel 
evantly,  "I  wish  you  had  married  Kitty  instead  of  that 
young  fop.  I  have  always  said  that  with  the  right  kind  of 
husband  she  would  make  a  grand  woman,  but  I  doubt  if 
he  's  the  right  kind." 

If  John  had  been  twenty  he  could  not  have  coloured 
more  violently,  nor,  for  the  moment,  looked  more  foolishly 
resentful.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  however;  then  his 
black  look  cleared  away  and  he  answered  quietly: 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  are  right,  sir.  He  's  not  the  man  any 
of  Kitty's  friends  could  have  wished  to  see  her  marry." 

The  General  regarded  Morland  curiously: 

"And  yet  —  I  had  forgotten  it  for  the  moment  —  but  I 
recall  now  that  Sutherland  has  been  one  of  your  closest 
friends  this  term." 

"Only  for  Kitty's  sake,"  responded  Morland  briefly. 

The  General  smiled. 

"Staunch  and  loyal  as  ever!  And  now  I  can  say  to  you 
frankly  what  I  started  to  say.  I  don't  believe  Sutherland 
has  the  strength  of  character  to  keep  a  woman  like  Kitty 
in  love  with  him,  nor  the  right  kind  of  courage  to  protect 
her  from  designing  villains  she  ought  to  be  protected  from. 
The  night  before  we  left  I  was  at  dinner  at  Mrs.  Decatur's, 
and  I  overheard  that  Miss  Dayton  —  by  the  way,  there  's 
a  woman  I  cannot  learn  to  like  —  I  overheard  her  say  to 
Montclair,whom  I  regard  as  ten  times  the  fop  Sutherland  is, 
and  a  good  deal  of  a  villain  besides — I  heard  her  say  to  him : 
"In  my  opinion  any  man  that  wanted  to  carry  on  a 
flirtation  with  Kitty  Sutherland  would  find  it  quite  as 
easy  as  with  Kitty  McCabe.'" 


106  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"My  God!     She  said  that  to  Montclairf" 

For  the  moment  Morland  was  startled  out  of  all  sense 
of  prudence.  He  forgot  that  the  General  knew  of  no 
reason  why  it  should  be  a  little  worse  to  say  this  to  Mont- 
clair  than  to  any  other  man  living. 

"What  did  Montclair  say  ?"  he  demanded  grimly,  with 
out  waiting  for  a  reply  to  his  first  startled  question. 

"Nothing,"  responded  the  General  as  grimly,  " but  the 
two  exchanged  a  look  that  stamped  them  both  in  my  mind 
as  damnable  villains,  and  made  me  shudder  for  my  poor 
little  Kitty  with  only  a  man  of  straw  to  be  responsible  for 
her  reputation." 

Morland  made  no  response  to  this.  He  was  submerged 
in  an  instant  in  an  avalanche  of  mental  questionings. 
Should  he  turn  his  horse  about  and  go  back  to  Washington 
to  protect  Kitty  ?  There  was  some  understanding  between 
Miss  Dayton  and  Montclair  —  he  had  caught  glimpses  of 
it  before  —  and  he  knew  that  the  glance  the  General  had 
surprised  might  easily  mean  even  deeper  villainy  than  the 
General  suspected.  But  if  he  were  in  Washington  what 
could  he  do?  Should  he  warn  Kitty?  She  would  only 
laugh  at  him.  Should  he  put  her  husband  on  his  guard  ? 
It  would  without  doubt  rouse  Sutherland's  suspicions 
and  make  him  insanely  jealous  of  Kitty;  but  Morland 
believed  it  would  be  Kitty  that  would  have  to  suffer  in 
such  case,  and  not  Montclair.  If  he  were  there  himself  he 
could  watch,  and  he  believed  with  a  vigilance  that  would 
frustrate  the  cleverest  of  designs,  but  could  he  forsake 
Jackson  for  Kitty?  Had  he  any  right?  Were  they  not 
hurrying  home  now  before  the  session  was  over  simply 
because  the  claims  of  the  campaign  were  so  urgent? 
Jackson,  deserted  now  by  one  of  his  closest  friends  and,  as 


JOHN  MORLAND  167 

Morland  knew,  without  any  undue  conceit,  one  of  his  most 
efficient  lieutenants,  might  easily  spell  defeat  in  November. 
Morland  groaned  in  spirit;  this  clashing  of  duties  or  clash 
ing  of  desires  was  more  than  he  felt  equal  to  adjusting.  He 
did  not  know  that  he  had  groaned  aloud,  but  he  must  have 
made  some  sound  betokening  at  least  perturbation. 

"  What  is  it,  John  ?"  asked  the  General,  bending  on  him 
the  kindliest  glance  of  his  kindly  eyes. 

"Kitty!"  responded  John,  briefly. 

But  almost  in  the  act  of  speaking  her  name  his  face 
cleared.  A  solution  of  the  difficulty  had  presented  itself 
to  him,  and  he  wondered  why  he  had  not  thought  of  it 
before.  He  would  write  to  Kitty's  mother.  She  would 
understand  why  Montclair  was  particularly  to  be  dreaded 
and  guarded  against,  and  she  was  the  only  one  who  could 
fully  understand.  Moreover,  such  implicit  reliance  had 
Morland  upon  Mrs.  McCabe's  cleverness,  sagacity,  and 
untiring  watchfulness  that  he  could  trust  her  as  he  would 
trust  himself,  or  rather,  far  better  than  he  could  trust  him 
self,  since  she  would  have  all  the  opportunities  for  watch 
fulness  that  would  be  impossible  to  him,  even  if  he  were 
still  in  Washington.  He  determined  to  send  his  letter 
from  whatever  place  they  should  put  up  for  the  night  — 
no  time  should  be  lost  —  and  having  settled  upon  that  he 
felt  that  everything  had  been  done  for  Kitty  that  merely 
human  agency  could  devise,  and  rode  on  with  a  lighter 
heart. 

Nor  was  Kitty's  name  mentioned  again  by  either  of  them 
through  the  four  days  that  remained  of  their  long  ride. 
Doubtless  Morland  often  thought  of  her,  but  the  General 
was  absorbed  in  the  details  of  the  campaign,  and  there  was 
no  room  for  the  discussion  of  other  topics. 


168    THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

The  long  shadows  were  on  the  grass  when  they  turned 
from  the  Nashville  turnpike  into  the  leafy  lane  leading 
up  to  The  Hermitage.  It  had  been  a  triumphal  progress 
from  the  city  out,  friends  and  neighbours  and  an  innumer 
able  rabble  of  blacks,  old  and  young,  swelling  the  caval 
cade  at  every  plantation  along  the  route. 

As  they  passed  into  the  lane  through  the  gates  held  wide 
open  by  grinning  pickaninnies,  redbirds  and  mocking 
birds  and  wood  thrushes  were  filling  the  air  with  music; 
there  were  the  sounds  of  happy  bustle  and  cheery  Negro 
voices  hurrying  on  the  preparations  for  supper;  from 
the  kitchen  behind  the  house  stole  the  odours  of  frying 
chicken  and  steaming  coffee,  as  delicious  to  a  hungry  man 
as  the  fragrance  of  crape-myrtle  and  jessamine  that  was 
filling  the  evening  air;  and  best  of  all,  on  the  wide  gallery 
with  its  roof  supported  by  tall  white  columns,  stood  Rachel 
the  beloved,  in  her  afternoon  dress  of  spotless  dimity, 
waiting  with  smiling  face  to  greet  her  husband.  The 
old  chieftain  turned  to  Morland,  who  still  rode  by  his  side. 

"  I  wonder  how  I  could  ever  have  left  all  this  peace  and 
happiness,"  he  said  gravely,  "for  the  turmoil  of  Washing 
ton  and  Congress  ?  And  I  wonder  if  I  will  not  some  day 
regret  it  still  more  if  the  people  should  send  me  back  as 
President." 

Morland  did  not  reply.  It  was  his  duty  to  keep  the  hero 
inspired  and  eager  for  the  race,  but  for  the  moment  it 
seemed  to  him,  too,  all  vain  and  profitless  to  give  up  for 
empty  honour  and  sure  vexation  and  strife  the  ideal  life 
of  a  planter  on  the  broad  and  fruitful  acres  of  The  Her 
mitage,  with  its  hundreds  of  slaves  devoted  to  their  master 
as  to  a  father,  and  with  the  love  of  such  a  wife  as  Rachel. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN  ARRIVAL  IN  WASHINGTON 

BUT  although  on  their  return  to  The  Hermitage  both 
Jackson  and  Morland  had  been  lured  by  its  aspect  of 
peace  and  quiet,  there  was  little  of  either  in  its  wide  halls 
and  shady  groves  through  the  summer  of  1824.  The  Gen 
eral  rarely  found  a  chance  to  ride  down  to  his  broad  cotton- 
fields,  the  pride  of  his  heart,  and  never  to  sit  alone  with 
Rachel  on  the  wide  galleries  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  and 
listen  to  the  mocking-birds,  as  they  had  together  listened  to 
them  for  years,  singing  mad  love  songs  to  the  moon.  The 
hitching  rail  at  the  side  of  the  house  was  tied  full  of  horses 
all  day  long  and  far  into  the  night,  and  halls  and  galleries 
and  lawns  were  thronged  day  in  and  day  out  with  a  restless 
tide  of  coming  and  going  guests.  Such  hospitality  as  The 
Hermitage  offered  that  summer  would  be  almost  impos 
sible  in  these  days  without  the  multitude  of  house  servants 
who  prepared  the  great  dinner  at  noonday,  and  had  it 
cleared  away  just  in  time  to  place  the  smoking  supper  on 
the  long  table  by  early  candle  light;  while  all  through  the 
hot  afternoon  there  were  constant  streams  of  mint  juleps 
and  other  cooling  drinks  borne  from  the  dining-room  to  the 
shaded  and  breezy  galleries  by  relays  of  small  darkies. 

There  were  no  wires  in  those  days  to  flash  the  news 
of  the  November  election  over  the  land,  but  it  is  wonderful 
how  little  time  it  took  for  the  remotest  country  hamlet  to 
learn  that  Jackson  had  received  a  plurality,  but  no 

169 


170  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

majority.  It  came  by  post,  by  courier,  by  private  message 
but  more  than  all  by  that  mysterious  vehicle  "They  say." 
Among  the  Negroes  of  the  South  there  was,  during  slavery 
days,  an  underground  system  of  conveying  intelligence 
that  flashed  it  from  plantation  to  plantation  with  almost 
the  speed  of  the  electric  wire,  and  that  often  seemed  to 
the  whites  impossible  of  accomplishment  without  some 
occult  and  supernatural  aid.  It  was  largely  by  their 
agency,  no  doubt,  that  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time 
after  the  election  Jackson  and  his  friends  knew  that  they 
could  only  count  on  the  plurality.  But  they  were  not 
dismayed.  They  knew,  too,  that  of  the  four  candidates, 
Adams,  Jackson,  Crawford,  and  Clay,  Clay,  the  popular 
idol  had  trailed  far  behind  and  was  out  of  the  running. 
Jackson  had  only  to  contend  with  the  austere  and 
unsympathetic  Adams  and  with  Crawford,  a  paralytic  and 
a  hopeless  invalid.  The  contest  was  virtually  between 
Jackson  and  Adams. 

In  the  minds  of  Jackson's  friends  his  election  was  so 
assured  that  they  persuaded  him  to  take  Mrs.  Jackson 
with  him  to  Washington,  and  in  great  state  they  made  the 
journey  through  wild  forests  and  over  mountain  passes, 
with  the  mud  of  winter  often  so  deep  that  the  grand  coach 
sank  into  it  over  the  hubs  and  with  difficulty  the  four  horses 
could  accomplish  a  mile  an  hour. 

Morland  had  left  Tennessee  some  weeks  after  Jack- 
sons's  cortege  had  set  out,  but  being  on  horseback  and 
alone  he  had  overtaken  them  in  the  beautiful  Shenandoah 
valley,  not  now  smiling  under  June  skies,  and  had  brought 
his  pace  down  to  their  slow  one,  and  so  made  his  entrance 
into  Washington  with  them.  He  left  them  at  Gadsby's 
and  turned  his  horse's  head  toward  his  old  quarters  at 


JOHN  MORLAND  171 

McCabe's.  He  could  not  tell  why  he  should  feel  such 
reluctance  in  seeking  his  old  home.  Heretofore  he  had 
always  sought  it  with  a  sense  of  pleasure  and  rather  eager 
haste;  now  he  was  trying  to  invent  reasons  for  returning 
to  Gadsby's  and  the  Jacksons.  He  ought  to  see  that  Mrs. 
Jackson  was  comfortably  settled;  there  were  points  still 
remaining  to  be  discussed  with  the  General. 

In  his  heart  he  knew  he  was  but  quibbling  with  himself; 
the  Jacksons  had  Major  Lewis  with  them,  and  could  want 
for  no  aid  in  getting  settled,  and  there  was  the  whole  winter 
before  him  for  the  discussion  of  political  points  with  the 
General.  He  might  as  well  face  it:  his  reluctance  was  due 
to  a  strange  fear  of  meeting  Kitty. 

She  had  been  in  the  background  of  his  thoughts  all 
summer,  but  he  had  heard  almost  nothing  of  her.  Two 
brief  notes  from  Mrs.  McCabe  —  one  in  reply  to  his  letter 
of  warning  and  the  other  in  reply  to  a  second  letter  from 
him  —  had  said  that  Kitty  and  Sutherland  were  well,  but 
he  had  not  been  entirely  reassured  by  that  statement. 
Kitty  seemed  to  him  so  thoroughly  capable  of  the  unex 
pected,  what  might  he  not  find  she  had  been  doing 
and  people  had  been  saying  of  her  in  these  six  months 
of  absence  ? 

He  dismounted  at  the  well-known  door  and  gave  his 
bridle  to  black  Jeff.  Very  naturally  the  door  was  not 
standing  open,  since  it  was  winter,  but  the  bare  trees  about 
the  house,  the  closed  door,  and  the  absence  of  cheery  wel 
coming  Negro  voices  struck  him  with  a  sense  of  chill.  He 
had  given  no  notice  of  the  day  of  his  return,  and  he  could 
not  be  surprised  that  he  was  not  expected;  but  this  air  of 
desertion  was  in  striking  contrast  to  the  stir  and  bustle  at 
Gadsby's,  where  the  whole  force  had  turned  out  to  welcome 


172  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

General  Jackson's  coach  and  four,  and  he  felt  sensitively 
alive  to  the  dreariness  of  it. 

He  opened  the  door  and  entered  the  big  dining-hall, 
expecting  nothing  less  than  Tim  McCabe's  loud  and 
pompous  greeting;  but  no  Tim  McCabe  was  there.  It 
was  not  an  hour  at  which  to  expect  either  loungers  or 
diners,  but  he  never  remembered  before  to  have  found  that 
room  utterly  deserted;  there  was  sure  always  to  be  a  Negro 
at  the  bar  or  Tim  himself  at  the  desk  —  could  anything 
have  happened? 

There  were  sounds  of  voices  from  Mrs.  McCabe's 
parlour.  He  had  intended  going  to  his  room  to  remove 
the  soil  of  travel  before  presenting  himself  to  Mrs.  McCabe, 
for  he  was  fastidious  in  matters  of  the  toilet,  but  the  aspect 
of  the  place  alarmed  him  and  he  stepped  at  once  to  her 
door.  What  he  saw  there  held  him  motionless  at  the 
threshold  a  full  minute. 

Ranged  round  the  walls  of  the  room  were  most  of  the 
black  servants  of  the  household,  their  eyes  shining  and 
showing  their  white  teeth  in  broad  grins  of  delight.  Suther 
land  was  leaning  over  the  tall  back  of  an  easy  chair,  in 
which  Kitty  sat,  with  an  unmistakable  air  of  anxious 
devotion,  and  Mrs.  McCabe  was  bending  over  her 
carefully  adjusting  a  white  and  fleecy  shawl  about  her 
shoulders. 

It  was  the  sight  of  Kitty  that  took  Morland's  breath 
away.  She  was  not  the  radiantly  beautiful  woman  of  his 
remembrance,  glowing  with  health  and  a  wonderful 
vitality,  but  she  was  an  etherealized  and  transfigured 
replica  of  her.  Through  the  transparent  flesh  Morlarid 
saw  the  leapings  of  the  spirit  in  the  delicate  colour  that 
flamed  and  faded  in  her  cheek,  and  the  angels  that  looked 


JOHN  MORLAND  173 

out  of  her  eyes  were  not  the  mischievous  and  daring 
sprites  that  used  to  mock  him  in  Kitty's  laughing  gray  ones. 
He  followed  their  soft  gaze  now  and  saw  what  had  made 
them  glow  with  such  angelic  brightness :  Kitty  was  looking 
at  her  father,  who  was  holding  in  his  arms  a  little  bundle 
of  lawn  and  lace  over  which  he  was  crooning  with  fatuous 
smiles. 

Kitty  a  mother!  Such  a  possibility  had  never  occurred 
to  him,  and  for  some  reason  that  he  could  not  explain  the 
thought  appalled  him.  He  turned  and  fled  precipitately 
up  the  stairs,  fearing  at  every  step  that  he  would  be  dis 
covered  and  called  back,  and  perhaps  compelled  to  hold 
that  tiny  morsel  of  humanity  in  his  arms!  He  shuddered 
at  the  thought,  and  blessed  his  stars  that  every  eye  had 
been  so  glued  to  the  baby  or  its  mother  that  no  one  had 
seen  him. 

In  the  stronghold  of  his  own  room  he  rang  his  bell 
violently.  It  was  answered  immediately  by  one  of  the 
Negroes  who  had  been  so  absorbed  in  the  baby  a  moment 
before.  The  Negro  was  still  grinning  and  he  was  panting 
from  his  quick  run  up  the  stairs. 

"Howdy,  Marse  Morland,  howdy,"  he  exclaimed  in 
delighted  welcome,  and  then,  in  the  same  breath: 

"Huccom  yuh  done  git  in  widouten  nobody  see  yoh! 
Dem  niggers  jes  gone  plum  crazy  ober  Miss  Kit  an'  her 
baby,  an'  dey  's  all  celebraten  now  'cause  she  's  down  stahs 
in  ole  Miss'  room  fer  de  fustest  time.  Niggers  is  shore 
fool  critters,"  he  added  cunningly,  seeing  that  Morland 
was  in  a  far  from  jubilant  mood. 

But  Morland  thought  it  incumbent  on  him  to  make  a 
suitable  response  to  the  black  boy's  information. 

"Ah,    I    had    not    heard,"  he   said,  in   his    stateliest 


174  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

fashion.  "Present  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Sutherland 
and  my  congratulations  to  the  father.  A  son  and  heir, 
I  suppose?" 

"No,  sah,  it  am  a  gyerl,  sah,  an'  de  spittin'  image  ob  its 
mammy,  Emmeline  say.  But  huccom  dat  yaller  gyerl 
can  prognosticate  dat's  more 'n  I  c'n  tell." 

Morland  had  heard  enough  of  Kitty's  baby. 

"  Go  and  send  Jeff  to  me  at  once,"  he  ordered  sharply, 
and  Joe  shuffled  nimbly  off,  muttering  to  himself: 

"De  Major's  shore  nuff  an  ole  bach.  He  done  got  no 
use  for  babies." 

A  half  hour  later  Morland,  fresh  from  a  bath  and  in  all 
the  glory  of  spotless  linen,  sat  in  a  comfortable  chair  while 
Jeff  vigorously  polished  his  high  calf  boots. 

"Jeff,"  he  asked,  hesitatingly,  "when  a  —  ah  —  an 
infant  arrives  in  a  friend's  family  what  is  the  proper  thing 
to  do?" 

Jeff  looked  up  from  his  work  with  his  brush  suspended 
in  the  air.  His  face  was  absolutely  blank  of  all  expression, 
for  he  had  heard  the  news  and  Joe's  account  of  his  master's 
reception  of  it. 

"Oh,"  he  said  in  an  offhand  manner,  "yoh  jes  sen'  em 
a  silber  cup,  I  reckon,  or  mebbe  a  spoon  or  some  little 
sooveenur  like  dat." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  returned  the  Major  irritably,  "  but  that 
is  not  what  I  mean.  What  is  the  proper  thing  to  do  when 
you  —  ah  —  meet  the  infant  ?" 

Jeff  had  resumed  his  work,  but  he  suspended  operations 
again  and  looked  up,  still  the  picture  of  innocence. 

"Oh,  dat 's  plum  easy,  sah.  Fust-off,  yoh  takes  it  in 
yoh  ahms  an'  kisses  it.  And  den,  ef  it 's  well  growed, 
yoh  toss  it  up  to  the  ceilin'  an'  say  —  loud  like  —  'Hi,  dar, 


JOHN  MORLAND  175 

yoh  young  coon!'  But  ef  it's  on'y  a  teentsy  one,  yoh 
jiggle  it  on  yoh  knee  an'  say  —  soft  like  —  -  'Ah,  goo-goo, 
leetle  guzzly-gozzlin,'  er  somepin  like  dat." 

Jeff  dropped  his  eyes  to  his  work  to  conceal  the  twinkle 
in  them  that  he  could  no  longer  suppress  at  sight  of  the 
blank  consternation  depicted  on  the  Major's  countenance. 


CHAPTER  VII 
CLAY'S  HOUR 

BUT  though  Jackson's  friends  were  so  sure  of  his 
success  that  they  had  persuaded  him  to  take  Mrs. 
Jackson  with  him  to  Washington,  there  was  yet  one  ele 
ment  which  they  had  not  failed  to  take  into  consideration, 
and  which  counted  for  uncertainty:  the  part  Clay  would 
play  in  the  decision.  Clay  was  the  Speaker  of  the 
House;  his  influence  with  the  members  was  unbounded; 
and  the  candidate  that  secured  it  was  the  candidate 
who  would  win. 

They  could  not  forget  Jackson's  ancient  and  bitter 
hostility  to  Clay,  but  they  were  comforted  by  three  things. 
One  was  the  fact  that  Clay  himself  had  been,  all  through  the 
Monroe  administration,  equally  bitter  against  Adams, 
Monroe's  Secretary  of  State;  the  second  comforting  fact 
was  that  Jackson  and  Clay  had  seemed  to  bury  their  dif 
ferences,  and  through  the  preceding  winter  had  been,  at 
least  outwardly,  civil  to  each  other;  but  most  of  all  they 
counted  on  the  great  statesman's  sense  of  justice  and  love 
of  fair  play  that  would  not  permit  him  to  throw  the  weight 
of  his  powerful  influence  against  the  man  who  was 
undoubtedly  the  people's  choice. 

None  the  less  the  Jackson  people  were  uneasy,  and  the 
Adams  people  were  no  less  so.  No  man  in  Washington 
was  ever  more  courted  than  Clay  in  that  December  of  1824. 
Apparently  he  had  nothing  to  gain  and  nothing  to  lose 

176 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    177 

whichever  way  it  went,  for  both  parties  had  made  it 
perfectly  plain  by  official  hints  that  he  was  sure  of  the 
portfolio  of  State  should  their  man  be  elected.  Clay 
smiFed  to  himself,  received  the  hints  blandly  and  blindly, 
and  kept  his  own  counsel. 

Morland  had  recovered  from  his  panic  over  Kitty's 
baby,  and  was  now  settled  down  to  the  hard  work  of  the 
campaign;  for  no  one  for  a  moment  considered  that  this 
memorable  campaign  of  '24  ended  with  the  November 
election.  He  was  a  brave  man,  and  being  a  brave  man  he 
had  resolved  —  while  Jeff  was  bringing  his  boots  to  that 
high  state  of  polish  which  perfectly  reflected  his  two  rows 
of  shining  teeth  —  to  beard  the  lion  in  his  den  and  at  once. 
In  other  words,  that  the  moment  Jeff  should  release  him  he 
would  march  down  stairs  and  pay  his  respects  to  Mrs. 
McCabe  and  Kitty  and  —  the  baby. 

Which  resolve  he  put  into  instant  execution,  but  in  only 
one  respect  did  he  carry  out  Jeff's  instructions.  He  had 
been  received  with  unaffected  delight  by  Mrs.  McCabe  and 
Kitty,  and,  the  first  cordial  greetings  over,  Mrs.  McCabe 
took  the  sleeping  baby  from  Emmeline,  who  was  holding 
it  on  her  lap,  and  laid  it  in  Morland's  arms.  She  did  not 
wait  for  him  to  look  at  it,  she  did  not  even  ask  him  if  he 
would  like  to  hold  it,  but  simply  and  naturally,  as  if  there 
could  be  no  question  of  his  desire,  she  gave  it  to  him.  As 
simply  and  naturally  he  received  it,  and  as  he  felt  the  warm 
little  bundle  nestling  close  to  him,  quite  unconsciously 
he  lifted  the  soft  cheek  to  his  lips.  Then  he  turned  to 
Kitty  and  laid  her  child  in  her  arms  so  gravely,  almost 
solemnly,  that  Kitty  looked  up  at  him  with  her  eyes  shining 
through  the  quick  tears  that  sprang  to  them. 

"Kitty  is  safe,"  said  Morland  to  himself  as  he  turned 


178  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

away.  "I  need  not  have  feared.  God  has  sent  her  a 
guardian  angel." 

In  the  two  weeks  that  followed  he  had  seen  Kitty  and 
the  baby  every  day,  and  he  had  discovered  a  wonderful 
deftness  in  handling  the  wee  morsel  that  delighted  and 
amused  Kitty  and  her  mother  and  charmed  the  baby, 
who  promptly  went  off  to  sleep  the  moment  Morland  took 
her  in  his  arms,  no  matter  how  fretful  she  may  have  been. 

But  all  thoughts  of  Kitty  and  her  baby  were  excluded 
from  Morland's  room.  Nothing  within  those  precincts 
was  allowed  to  intrude  upon  the  grim  exigences  of  cam 
paign  work.  In  that  room,  one  afternoon  in  the  latter  part 
of  December,  there  were,  as  usual,  two  or  three  of  Jack 
son's  friends  discussing  his  prospects. 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Benton,  who  was  now  as  enthusiastic 
for  Jackson  as  he  had  been  for  Clay  as  long  as  there  had 
been  the  least  hope  for  his  candidate,  "  I  tell  you,  you  don't 
half  realize  Clay's  power.  You  are  counting  on  Mis 
souri,  Kentucky,  and  Ohio  because  they  have  declared  for 
Jackson  as  second  choice ;  but  Clay  can  do  what  he  pleases 
with  their  Representatives,  and  they  will  vote  exactly  as 
he  tells  them." 

"Oh,  come,"  said  Morland  pleasantly,  "it's  perfectly 
natural  you  should  think  Clay  is  a  tremendous  power, 
and  he  is,  but  you  are  magnifying  him  a  little  when  you 
think  he  can  persuade  Representatives  to  vote  counter  to 
their  state's  instructions." 

"I  know  of  what  I  am  speaking/'returned  Benton  grimly. 
"I  have  had  humiliating  proof  of  it.  When  I  talk  to 
Missouri's  sole  Representative,  John  Scott,  I  apparently 
convince  him  that  there  is  but  one  line  of  action  for  him: 
to  vote  as  his  state  votes;  and  he  gives  me  his  promise  to 


JOHN  MORLAND  179 

cast  his  vote  for  Jackson.  But  my  back  is  hardly  turned 
before  he  begins  to  waver,  and  at  Clay's  first  word  he  is  all 
for  Adams,  and  sends  me  a  humble  apology  and  a  retrac 
tion  of  his  promise." 

The  dusk  of  a  short  December  day  was  rapidly  filling 
the  room.  The  three  men  sitting  around  the  open  fire 
place  where  blazing  hickory  logs  made  a  circle  of  light  in 
the  darkening  room,  were  silent  for  a  moment.  Each  one 
was  trying  to  solve  for  himself  a  knotty  problem.  It  was 
the  third  man  who  finally  spoke,  and  with  some  hesita 
tion.  He  had  been  a  listener  through  a  discussion  that  had 
lasted  some  ten  minutes,  offering  no  suggestion  until  now. 

"Why  don't  some  one  go  to  see  Clay  and  give  him  to 
understand  what  Jackson  will  do  for  him  if  he  gets  in  ? " 
he  said  slowly,  weighing  each  word,  and  his  naturally 
ruddy  face  growing  redder,  either  from  the  reflection  of 
the  firelight  or  the  embarrassment  of  his  speech. 

"Not  I,"  said  Morland  quickly.  "Clay  and  I  have 
been  political  enemies  for  years,  but  socially  we  've  been 
friends,  and  I  am  not  going  to  risk  a  rupture  now." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Benton  slowly.  "Do  you  realize,  Mr. 
Buchanan,  that  you  are  proposing  something  in  the  nature 
of  a  bribe  ?  Clay  is  a  high-minded  gentleman,  and  there 
would  be  no  surer  way  of  securing  his  influence  for  the 
other  side." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Buchanan  blandly.  "There  would 
be  nothing  in  the  nature  of  a  bribe  in  mentioning  Mr. 
Jackson's  intentions,  which  are  fixed,  I  suppose,  whether 
Clay  uses  his  influence  for  or  against  him,  and  Clay  has 
a  right  to  know  what  to  expect,  I  see  nothing  in  the  nature 
of  bribery  in  that." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Benton,  a  little  mollified,  "if  it  was 


180  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

put  in  the  right  way.  And  I  don't  know  any  one,  Mr. 
Buchanan,  quite  as  skilful  in  a  delicate  affair  of  that  kind 
as  the  member  from  Pennsylvania.  And  your  state  is  so 
solid  for  Jackson  that  anything  you  say  will  carry  weight." 

"My  state  is  solid  enough."  Buchanan  smiled  as  he 
spoke.  "I  've  no  doubt  some  of  the  counties,  Bucks  and 
Perry,  for  instance,  will  go  on  voting  for  Jackson  for  the 
next  forty  years.  But  I  'm  willing  to  try  what  I  can  do 
with  Clay  if  neither  of  you  will  venture  it." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  added : 

"I'll  go  at  once.  It's  near  dinner-time, and  I  will  be 
likely  to  catch  him  in  his  room." 

The  others  did  not  try  to  detain  him,  though  both  were 
still  a  little  troubled  by  the  ethical  aspects  of  such  a  mis 
sion.  Buchanan  seemed  to  have  no  such  scruples,  and 
being  gifted  with  a  certain  easy  savoir  faire,  he  was  not  so 
embarrassed  as  another  man  might  have  been  at  finding 
a  half-dozen  of  Clay's  friends  gathered  in  his  room  waiting 
for  dinner  and  smoking  while  they  waited.  Of  course  the 
conversation  turned  on  the  one  topic,  and  Buchanan  had 
a  chance  to  say  with  apparent  carelessness : 

"I  've  no  doubt  at  all  of  the  result,  and  when  Jack 
son  is  elected  he  will  form  the  most  splendid  cabinet  the 
country  has  ever  seen." 

"How  could  he  have  one  as  distinguished  as  Jeffer 
son's?"  asked  Letcher  of  Kentucky,  Clay's  close  friend. 
"Where  would  he  be  able  to  find  men  as  eminent  as  Madi 
son  and  Gallatin?" 

"He  would  not  go  out  of  this  room  for  a  Secretary  of 
State,  Mr.  Letcher,"  said  Buchanan,  looking  at  Clay. 

But  Clay  was  not  going  to  nibble  at  bait  with  the  hook 
so  plainly  in  sight. 


JOHN  MORLAND  181 

"  I  think  there  is  no  timber  in  the  room  fit  for  a  cabinet 
officer  unless  it  is  Mr. Buchanan  himself, "he  said  playfully, 
and  then  he  added  quickly,  determined  to  give  Buchanan 
chance  to  say  nothing  further: 

"Stay  to  dinner  with  us,  Mr.  Buchanan.  My  landlady 
has  promised  me  roast  shoat  for  dinner." 

Buchanan  shuddered  politely. 

"Thank  you,  some  other  day.  I  'm  a  Jew  where  fresh 
pork  is  concerned.  But  I  dropped  in,  Mr.  Clay,  to  invite 
you  to  a  little  dinner  I  am  giving  Wednesday  to  Lafayette 
and  his  son.  The  Marquis'  time  is  so  taken,  with  every 
body  feasting  him,  I  have  to  make  my  arrangements  nearly 
a  week  ahead." 

The  invitation  was  an  afterthought,  to  explain  his  visit. 
He  was  going  to  give  a  dinner  to  Lafayette,  but  he  had  not 
intended,  until  this  moment,  to  include  Clay  among  the 
guests.  Of  course  his  invitation  was  accepted  as  promptly 
as  such  an  invitation  was  bound  to  be,  and  Buchanan  took 
his  leave  feeling  that  he  had  dropped  his  seed  —  it  must  be 
left  to  germinate. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him  Clay  turned  and  looked 
at  Letcher. 

"Was  he  a  direct  emissary  from  headquarters,  do  you 
reckon?"  he  asked. 

"Looks  like  it,"  returned  Letcher.  "But  I  hardly 
think  Jackson  himself  had  anything  to  do  with  it  —  he  's 
too  simple  and  direct  in  his  methods,  and  I  believe  too  sen 
sitively  alive  to  a  suspicion  of  bribery.  It 's  probably 
Lewis  or  Morland." 

Clay  smiled  a  little  bitterly. 

"I  am  very  popular  just  now  with  Jacksonites  and 
Adamsites  and  Crawfordites.  I  am  sometimes  touched 


182  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

gently  on  the  shoulder  by  a  friend  of  General  Jackson  who 
will  thus  address  me :  '  My  dear  sir,  all  our  dependence  is 
upon  you;  don't  disappoint  us.  You  know  you  were  our 
choice  next  to  the  hero,  and  how  much  we  want  a  Western 
President.'  The  next  moment  a  friend  of  Mr.  Crawford 
will  accost  me :  '  The  hopes  of  the  Republican  Party  are 
concentrated  on  you;  for  God's  sake  preserve  it!  If  you 
had  been  returned  instead  of  Mr.  Crawford,  every  man  of 
us  would  have  supported  you  to  the  last  hour.  We  con 
sider  him  and  you  as  the  only  genuine  Republican  candi 
dates.'  Then  comes  a  friend  of  Mr.  Adams,  with  tears  in 
his  eyes:  'Sir,  Mr.  Adams  has  always  had  the  greatest 
respect  for  you  and  admiration  of  your  talents.  Most 
undoubtedly  you  are  the  second  choice  of  New  England, 
and  I  pray  you  to  consider  seriously  whether  the  public 
good  and  your  own  future  interests  do  not  point  most 
distinctly  to  the  choice  you  ought  to  make.'  How  can  one 
withstand  all  this  disinterested  homage  and  kindness?" 

Letcher  smiled  sympathetically,  but  Clay  gave  him  no 
time  to  do  more.  With  a  quick  change  from  biting  sar 
casm  to  flaming  indignation  he  exclaimed  hotly: 

"The  knaves  cannot  comprehend  how  a  man  can  be 
honest!  They  cannot  conceive  that  I  should  have  solemnly 
interrogated  my  conscience  and  asked  it  to  tell  me  seriously 
what  I  ought  to  do!  The  object  now  is  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Crawford  and  General  Jackson  to  cajole  me  or  to  drive 
me  from  the  course  which  my  deliberate  judgment  points 
out.  They  all  have  yet  to  learn  my  character  if  they  sup 
pose  it  possible  to  make  me  swerye  from  my  duty  by  any 
species  of  bribery  or  intimidation!" 

Clay  was  right  in  his  estimate  of  his  own  character. 
His  political  integrity  was  absolutely  unassailable.  He 


JOHN  MORLAND  183 

would  stoop  to  no  artifice  and  accept  no  bribe  to  win  place 
or  power.  Yet,  so  involved  and  convoluted  are  the  mental 
processes  of  even  as  honest  and  straightforward  a  man  as 
Clay  believed  himself  to  be,  that  he  came  up  to  the  great 
day  of  the  election  serenely  unconscious  that  the  fact  of 
Adams  being  an  Eastern  man  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
decision  he  had  arrived  at.  He  felt  himself  on  an  exalted 
moral  plane  far  above  the  reach  of  all  baser  motives.  He 
was  not  to  be  moved  by  the  appeal  that  Jackson  was  vir 
tually  the  choice  of  the  people  and  the  darling  of  the  West, 
his  own  section;  if  he  was  ignoring  the  demands  of  his 
constituents  he  but  felt  himself  the  more  virtuous  in 
refusing  to  yield  his  convictions  to  the  arguments  of 
expediency. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  his  lofty  ethical  claims,  Clay  would  not 
have  been  human,  still  less  would  he  have  been  Clay,  if 
he  had  not  realized  that  this  was  his  hour.  He  held  in  his 
grasp  the  destinies  of  the  two  men  who  had  been  for  years 
his  most  formidable  rivals;  the  one  snatching  from  him 
the  place  of  power  he  had  so  dearly  coveted,  the  other 
sharing  with  him  and  eclipsing  him  in  the  idolatry  of  the 
people.  This  last  he  could  not  forgive.  He  might  for 
give  Adams  that  he  had  taken  from  him  the  portfolio  of 
State,  the  stepping-stone  to  the  Presidency,  but  he  could 
not  forgive  Jackson  that  in  the  campaign  just  ended  the 
roar  of  the  guns  of  New  Orleans  had  drowned  his  own  roll 
ing  periods,  and  the  flash  of  the  hero's  sword  had  dazzled 
the  eyes  of  the  people,  for  the  time  obscuring  in  its 
coruscations  the  figure  of  the  brilliant  orator,  the  well- 
loved  and  dashing  "Harry  of  the  Slashes." 

He  would  not  have  been  Harry  Clay,  therefore,  no,  nor 
any  other  mere  man,  if  he  had  not  entered  the  Hall  of 


184  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Representatives  on  the  morning  of  the  ninth  of  February 
secretly  elate  with  a  sense  of  coming  triumph.  No  one 
knew  so  well  as  he  how  completely  he  held  the  Representa 
tives  in  his  sway.  Others  were  fearful  or  doubtful  of  the 
result,  he  was  sure  of  it. 

The  old  Hall  of  Representatives  was  thronged  to  suf 
focation  on  that  morning.  From  the  entrance-arch  over 
which  the  classic  figure  of  History  in  the  Car  of  Time 
wrote  down  the  legislative  doings  of  the  House,  to  the  great 
proscenium  arch  with  its  crimson  draperies  behind  the 
Speaker's  chair,  every  available  spot  permitted  to  visitors 
was  occupied  by  members  of  the  cabinet,  judges,  ambas 
sadors,  governors  of  states,  and  other  privileged  persons ; 
and  the  balcony  was  crowded  with  the  friends  of  the  three 
candidates. 

That  was  a  wonderful  old  hall!  Relegated  now  to  be 
the  dreary  domicile  of  cold  figures  in  marble,  in  those  days 
it  was  pulsating  with  life  and  action.  The  pillared  walls 
and  beautiful  dome  must  still  be  reverberating  with  the 
echo  of  those  magnetic  voices  that  for  many  years  kept  the 
eyes  and  the  ears  of  the  civilized  nations  of  the  earth  turned 
to  the  Hall  of  Representatives  in  Washington:  Fair- 
haired,  boyish-looking  Randolph  denouncing  all  measures 
and  all  men  with  shrill  screams  of  invective;  Clay,  in  the 
Speaker's  chair,  swaying  men's  minds  at  his  will  with  his 
wonderful  voice ;  Calhoun  and  Webster,  from  their  desks, 
stirring  the  English-speaking  world  to  its  foundations,  the 
one  by  the  keenness  of  his  logic,  the  other  by  the  matchless 
fire  of  his  oratory. 

They  were  all  there  that  sunshiny  February  morning, 
each  in  his  place,  and  up  in  the  crowded  balcony  sat  Kitty 
and  her  mother  watching  them  eagerly  and  waiting  breath- 


JOHN  MORLAND  185 

lessly,  as  the  whole  House  was  waiting,  for  the  entrance  of 
the  Senators  from  the  other  end  of  the  Capitol. 

Their  breathlessness  was  largely  from  anxiety  as  to 
whether  Jackson  would  be  among  them.  Earlier  in  the 
morning,  in  Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour,  Mrs.  McCabe  and 
Morland  had  tried  to  dissuade  him  from  going  to  the 
Capitol  at  all.  They  were  hopeful  of  his  election,  but 
should  he  be  defeated  they  feared  the  effect  upon  him,  and 
shrank  from  the  public  exhibition  of  his  disappointment 
and  rage  which  they  thought  he  was  likely  to  make. 
But  they  did  not  know  the  staunch  old  soldier.  He  was 
bearing  himself  grandly  in  those  days ;  they  need  not  have 
feared  for  him  —  except  to  fear  the  internal  wound  the 
sensitive  heart  of  the  old  hero  might  have  to  sustain;  for 
there  was  something  so  simple  and  childlike  in  Jackson 
that  those  who  loved  him  were  always  eager  to  spare  him 
every  hurt,  as  they  might  have  been  eager  to  spare  a  child. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  vast  assembly  that  betokened  the 
approach  of  the  Senatorial  procession.  Heralded  by  the 
Sergeant-at-Arms,  it  entered  the  House,  and  to  the  accom 
paniment  of  a  deferential  murmur  of  half-suppressed 
admiration  the  dignified  body  of  forty-eight  stately  and 
imposing  men,  the  Vice-President  at  their  head,  marched 
down  the  aisle  to  the  seats  reserved  for  them  directly  in 
front  of  the  Speaker's  rostrum. 

Kitty  seized  her  mother's  hand  nervously.  Yes,  there 
he  was,  leaning  on  Morland's  arm,  his  crown  of  white  hair 
towering  above  the  heads  of  those  about  him,  and  drawing 
all  eyes  toward  him.  He  was  the  only  one  of  the  three 
candidates  present;  Adams  had  too  strong  a  sense  of  his 
own  personal  dignity  and  was  too  self-conscious  to  trust 
himself,  and  Crawford  was  too  feeble. 


186  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Clay  invited  the  president  of  the  Senate  to  a  seat  beside 
him  on  the  rostrum,  and  then,  amid  an  impressive  silence, 
the  packet  from  the  College  of  Electors  was  opened.  Of 
course  the  results  had  long  been  known,  but  the  formality 
was  a  necessary  one.  Calhoun  who,  as  Secretary  of  War, 
was  on  the  floor  of  the  House  among  the  privileged  visitors, 
received  the  congratulatory  smiles  of  his  friends  on  his 
almost  unanimous  election  to  the  Vice-Presidency  with  as 
stately  decorum  as  if  he  had  not  received  them  many  times 
before.  Then,  as  the  announcement  was  made  that  there 
had  been  no  election  for  President,  and  the  duty  of  a  deci 
sion  must  fall  upon  the  House,  the  Senate,  like  the  King  of 
France,  rose  from  their  seats  and  "marched  back  again" 
to  their  own  end  of  the  Capitol.  But  they  did  not  remain 
in  the  Senate  chamber.  With  little  of  the  dignity  of  their 
first  entrance  most  of  them  hurried  back  and  mingled  with 
the  throng  on  the  floor  to  be  present  at  the  real  event. 
Only  Jackson  did  not  return;  he  went  home  to  Rachel 
to  await  the  result  quietly  with  her. 

Morland  did  not  go  on  the  floor;  he  had  spied  Kitty 
and  Mrs.  McCabe  in  the  balcony,  and  he  was  in  that 
feverish  state  of  expectancy  that  must  have  some  sympa 
thetic  soul  to  share  his  excitement  with  him.  Kitty  was 
sufficiently  sympathetic;  not  Morland  himself  could  be 
feeling  more  intensely  the  strain  of  this  waiting  for  a  deci 
sion,  and  certainly  Morland  himself  was  filled  with  no  such 
eager  assurance  of  success  as  buoyed  Kitty  up  to  a  state 
of  wild  excitement. 

She  was  no  longer  the  Madonna-like  Kitty  of  Morland's 
first  return  to  Washington;  she  was  the  brilliant,  sparkling, 
irrepressible  Kitty  of  old.  Her  return  to  health  had 
brought  back  the  colour  and  the  glow,  and  certain  lapses 


JOHN  MORLAND  187 

of  Sutherland  into  his  old  weaknesses  —  now  that  Kitty's 
illness  no  longer  made  demands  on  his  solicitous  devotion, 
and  the  new  baby  began  to  be  an  old  story  —  had  roused  in 
Kitty  a  spirit  of  audacity  to  resist  the  encroachments  of 
anxiety,  and  snatch  at  least  a  superficial  enjoyment  for  her 
self  out  of  the  wreck  of  her  happiness.  This  had  given  a 
little  of  hardness  to  expression  and  manner  that  did  not 
detract  from  her  brilliancy,  and  added  a  diamond-like 
glitter  and  sparkle  to  her  gaiety.  Morland  did  not  like 
the  change  in  her,  but  he  thought  he  understood  its  cause, 
and  he  was  sorry  for  her  and  more  dazzled  then  ever; 
which  is  saying  much,  for  Kitty  had  always  bewitched  him. 

"Sit  down,  sir,"  she  said  imperiously  before  he 
scarcely  had  time  to  exchange  a  bow  and  a  smile  with  her 
mother,  and  motioning  with  a  white  ungloved  hand  to  a 
seat  on  the  step  in  the  aisle  at  her  side.  "I  want  you  to 
tell  me  who  everybody  is,  and  explain  everything  I  don't 
understand." 

"  But  I  thought  you  understood  everything,  you  and  your 
mother,"  said  Morland,  as  he  took  his  seat  on  the  step 
at  Kitty's  bidding.  "And  I  am  sure  you  know  everybody 
—  that 's  worth  knowing,  at  least." 

"Oh,  the  celebrities,  yes,"  began  Kitty,  but  her  mother 
began  at  the  same  moment: 

"Kitty  and  I  have  n't  been  to  the  Capitol  for  nearly  a 
year  —  not  since  the  day  Randolph  sent  us  home." 

Morland  looked  a  little  mystified  and  Kitty  laughed. 

"You  should  have  seen  mother's  face  when  Randolph 
turned  to  the  galleries  with  his  arm  outstretched,  and  in 
that  high,  clear  musical  voice  of  his  called  out:  'What  are 
all  these  women  doing  here?  They  should  be  at  home 
attending  to  their  knitting  and  darning!'  I  laugh  yet 


188  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

when  I  think  of  it.  I  was  for  braving  it  out,  but  mother 
was  the  first  to  flee,  and  I  perforce  had  to  follow." 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Morland  with  enlightened  visage, 
"  were  you  here  that  day  ?  I  heard  of  it,  of  course.  Some 
times,  do  you  know,  I  think  Randolph  's  mad." 

"Little  whippersnapper!"  said  Kitty  disdainfully. 
"He  's  not  worth  minding,  I  tell  mother,  but  I  Ve  never 
succeeded  in  getting  her  back  here  since,  until  to-day." 

"I  could  n't  live  through  a  second  mortification  like  that 
one,"  said  Mrs.  McCabe,  whimsically,  "but  if  I  ever  do 
venture  here  again  on  one  of  the  regular  days  I  shall 
certainly  bring  my  knitting  with  me  and  perhaps  that  will 
render  me  safe  from  Randolph's  tongue." 

"Such  an  interminable  roll-call!"  exclaimed  Kitty, 
impatiently.  "It  takes  men  forever  to  fix  things,  does  n't 
it?" 

"We  're  not  so  quick  as  the  ladies,"  assented  Morland, 
"but  there  's  some  excuse  for  their  tediousness  this  time. 
You  know  when  each  state  is  called  the  whole  delegation 
has  to  get  itself  seated  together,  and  men  are  such  clumsy 
animals  there  's  bound  to  be  confusion  and  delay." 

"  Only  down  to  New  York,"  Kitty  sighed  again; "  they  '11 
never  get  to  Virginia!" 

And  then  Morland  saw  a  slight  but  very  perceptible 
change  come  over  Kitty.  She  seemed  for  a  moment  to 
stiffen  and  harden,  and  then,  as  if  by  an  effort  of  will,  her 
face  wreathed  itself  in  smiles  that  came  as  near  being  lan 
guishing  as  anything  Morland  had  ever  seen  on  Kitty's 
face.  He  was  almost  irresistibly  impelled  to  follow  the 
direction  of  her  glance,  but  he  would  not.  He  had  a  very 
keen  intuition  as  to  the  cause  of  this  effect,  and  he  was 
hardly  surprised,  though  he  owned  to  an  intensely  disagree- 


JOHN  MORLAND  189 

able  shock,  when  Montclair  came  up,  debonair  and 
smiling,  with  extended  hand,  into  which  Kitty  put  hers 
for  a  moment.  He  was  full  of  gossip  about  the  candidates 
which  he  was  eager  to  dispense,  and  Kitty  drew  him  on 
with  smiles  and  glances  that  made  Morland  boil  inwardly. 
He  looked  at  Mrs.  McCabe.  She  had  barely  returned 
Montclair's  greeting,  and  now  she  sat  with  troubled  eyes 
gazing  absently  down  on  the  stirring  crowds  below.  Mor- 
land's  nod  had  also  been  of  the  curtest,  and  he  sat  stiffly 
erect  in  his  place,  making  it  impossible  for  Montclair  to 
get  very  near  Kitty,  and  necessitating  that  all  their  conver 
sation  should  be  carried  on  directly  over  his  head.  He 
was  very  uncomfortable  himself,  but  he  would  not  move  a 
whit  to  make  it  any  the  more  comfortable  for  them,  and 
in  common  decency  Montclair  was  compelled  to  cut  his 
stay  short.  There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  he  had 
turned  away,  and  then  Morland,  white  with  rage, 
blurted  out: 

"Kitty  what  do  you  mean  by  carrying  on  a  flirtation 
with  that  fellow!" 

It  was  exactly  what  Kitty  had  been  doing,  but  the  word 
roused  her  wrath  also. 

"I  know  of  no  right  you  have,  Major  Morland,  to  ques 
tion  my  actions,"  she  said  icily. 

Morland  was  stunned  by  her  manner.  He  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  regarding  this  girl  of  less  than  twenty  as  a 
child,  and  heretofore  she  had  taken  every  reproof  of  his 
with  a  childlike  sweetness.  Had  he  overstepped  the 
bounds?  Very  likely;  he  was  always  a  blunderer. 
Kitty  had  given  him  to  understand  that  she  was  a 
child  no  longer,  and  answerable  only  to  her  husband, 
and  he  would  make  the  necessary  apologies. 


190  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Forgive  me,  Mrs.  Sutherland,"  he  said  quietly.  "I 
spoke  thoughtlessly,  under  a  very  strong  impulse  to  which 
I  had  no  right  to  yield." 

His  "Mrs.  Sutherland"  touched  Kitty.  She  had  never 
heard  him  use  it  more  than  once  or  twice,  and  she  had 
divined  that  he  had  a  strong  repugnance  to  using  it. 
Kitty's  wrath  was  always  short-lived. 

"Oh,  I  was  horrid,  too,"  she  said  with  her  sweetest  and 
most  childlike  smile.  "But  only  don't  scold  and  I  '11 
try  to  be  good." 

Morland  hoped  the  words  meant  more  than  he  feared 
they  did;  but  Kitty  in  her  present  mood  was  irresistible, 
and  when  at  length  they  turned  to  watch  the  movements 
of  the  members  below  they  found  Virginia  had  already 
been  called  and  Randolph  and  Webster,  as  tellers,  were 
getting  ready  to  collect  the  ballots,  one  for  each  state, 
deposited  in  boxes  on  the  desks  in  front  of  each  delegation. 

No  one  was  prepared  for  what  followed.  Jackson's 
friends  had  counted  on  receiving  the  vote  of  the  Crawford 
states  on  the  second  ballot,  and  Crawford's  friends  had 
counted  on  repeated  ballots  with  no  majority  for  either  of 
the  leading  candidates;  and  so,  by  the  tactics  of  wearying 
out  the  others,  securing  at  last  the  vote  for  their  own 
candidate. 

But  neither  of  these  things  happened.  Webster  and 
Randolph  gathered  up  the  boxes  and  read  slowly  and  dis 
tinctly  the  ballot  in  each.  It  was  an  easy  matter  for  every 
one  in  the  breathless  throng  to  keep  tally,  and  Mrs. 
McCabe  and  Kitty  and  Morland  were  white  with  disap 
pointment  even  before  Webster's  rolling  tones  announced 
the  result: 

"Adams    thirteen,    Jackson    seven,    Crawford    four. 


JOHN  MORLAND  191 

John  Quincy  Adams  is  elected  President  of  these  United 
States!" 

For  a  moment  the  House  was  dumb  with  astonishment 
at  such  a  quick  result,  and  then  a  roar  of  applause  burst 
from  Adams's  friends  in  the  gallery,  mingled  with  hisses 
and  groans  from  the  friends  of  Crawford  and  Jackson. 

Clay  rose  to  restore  order,  and  there  was  a  gleam  of 
triumph  in  his  eye  and  a  thrill  of  elation  in  his  voice  that 
he  could  not  wholly  suppress,  as  his  command  rang  out: 

" Sergeant-at-Arms,  clear  the  galleries!" 

It  was  his  hour. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
KITTY'S  DEFIANCE 

T)ERHAPS  it  was  fortunate  for  all  concerned  that 
Monroe  was  holding  a  levee  on  the  evening  of 
the  election;  it  gave  the  friends  of  Adams  an  opportunity 
of  congratulating  him,  and  it  gave  Jackson  a  chance 
to  prove  the  metal  he  was  made  of.  No  one  could 
ever  doubt,  after  seeing  him  at  the  White  House  that 
evening,  that  he  was  a  soldier  to  his  finger-tips,  and  knew 
how  to  take  defeat  better  than  some  men  know  how  to 
take  victory. 

"  Come, Kitty,"  he  said,  entering  Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour 
as  the  men  in  the  adjoining  dining-room  were  rising  from 
the  table  with  even  more  than  the  usual  confusion  of 
tongues,  since  the  topic  of  the  morning's  election  was  a 
prolific  one,  "come,  put  on  your  prettiest  frock  and  go 
with  me  to  the  President's  levee.  Rachel's  not  well  enough 
to  go,  and  T  could  not  stay  away  for  very  shame.  Come, 
you  will  keep  me  in  countenance." 

It  was  more  for  Kitty  than  for  himself  he  was  making 
this  plea.  Morland  had  told  him  on  their  way  up  from 
Gadsby's,  where  they  had  been  dining  together,  that 
Sutherland  had  taken  the  excuse  Jackson's  defeat  had 
given  him  to  indulge  in  a  heavier  drinking-bout  than 
usual,  he  feared;  and  as  a  result  Kitty  was  by  turns  in  a 
state  of  high  nervous  excitement  and  deep  depression. 
Jackson  thought,  and  Morland  agreed  with  him,  that  to 

192 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    193 

get  her  out  among  people,  away  from  her  thoughts,  would 
be  the  best  possible  medicine  for  such  a  malady. 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Kitty's  tongue  to  answer  him: 
"Thank  you,  but  I  am  tired  and  would  rather  stay  at 
home,"  for  she  had  easily  discerned  that  it  was  sympathy 
for  her  that  had  brought  forth  his  invitation,  and  above  all 
things  Kitty  resented  sympathy.  She  resented  it  the  more 
because  she  believed  Morland  had  prompted  the  General, 
and,  for  some  reason  that  she  did  not  explain  to  herself, 
she  was  beginning  to  resent  sympathy  from  him  a  little 
more  keenly  than  she  resented  it  from  any  one  else. 

But  she  had  been  looking  forward  with  dread  to  this 
long  evening  spent  alone  with  her  mother,  to  whom  she 
could  not  talk  on  the  one  subject  that  absorbed  her 
thoughts,  and  with  whom,  for  pride's  sake,  she  must  make 
light  conversation  while  waiting,  and  listening  for,  and 
fearing  the  return  of  her  husband.  Kitty  hated  pain  and 
care  and  sorrow  of  all  kinds,  and  she  could  not  resist 
snatching  at  this  diversion  offered  which  would,  for  the 
time  at  least,  make  her  forget  all  that  she  so  hated  to 
remember.  But  she  must  give  Morland  his  punishment; 
he  had  no  right  to  be  interesting  himself  in  her  welfare 
as  she  suspected  him  of  doing,  so  she  said  in  her  gentlest 
and  sweetest  fashion,  and  suppressing  every  twinkle  of 
mischief  in  her  dancing  eyes: 

"Thank  you,  General  Jackson,  I  would  like  to  go  with 
you  very  much;  but  I  do  not  like  leaving  mother  alone  — 
do  you  think  Major  Morland  would  mind  staying  with 
her?" 

If  Kitty  had  expected  to  see  Morland  crestfallen  she 
was  disappointed.  He  understood  the  spirit  of  her 
request,  and  he  had  counted  on  the  pleasure  he  always 


194  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

felt  in  being  near  her,  for  he  had  supposed,  naturally, 
that  they  would  all  go  together  to  the  White  House,  but 
he  was  not  the  man  to  flinch  from  the  disagreeable. 

"Of  course  not,"  he  answered  with  no  appreciable 
hesitation,  "nothing  could  delight  me  more  than  to  spend 
a  quiet  evening  with  Mrs.  McCabe,  if  she  will  not  go  with 
us  to  the  levee." 

Mrs.  McCabe,  hearing  her  name  spoken,  looked  up 
from  Baby  Janet,  her  namesake,  over  whom  she  had  been 
hanging  entranced,  and  for  the  first  time  paid  some 
attention  to  the  elders,  who  counted  for  little  to  this  adoring 
young  grandmother  when  baby  was  around. 

"What  are  you  saying  about  me?"  she  asked. 

"We  are  inviting  you  to  go  to  President  Monroe's  levee 
with  us,"  Morland  replied  quickly. 

"Thank  you,  no,"  said  Mrs.  McCabe,  "I  'm  tired  of 
levees.  But  if  I  were  not,  I  would  not  go  to  this  one  and 
help  swell  Mr.  Adams's  triumph." 

"  It 's  not  to  swell  Adams's  triumph,  it 's  to  help  me  face 
the  music,"  urged  Jackson. 

"Yes,  we  want  a  full  turnout  of  the  General's  sup 
porters,"  Morland  added,  "we  don't  want  the  Adams 
people  to  think  we  are  only  fair-weather  friends." 

But  no  arguments  were  of  any  avail  with  Mrs.  McCabe. 
She  did  not  say :  "  Levees  are  an  old  and  tiresome  story 
and  baby  is  a  new  and  thrilling  one,"  but  that  is  what  she 
meant.  She  was  obdurate,  also,  on  the  point  of  Morland 
staying  with  her.  He  would  be  terribly  in  baby's  way,  she 
said  to  herself,  but  to  them  she  reiterated  her  one  argu 
ment:  he  must  not  desert  the  General. 

Owing  partly  to  the  length  of  their  controversy,  and 
partly  to  a  frolic  they  all  got  into  with  the  baby,  and 


JOHN  MORLAND  195 

partly  to  the  time  it  took  Kitty  to  make  a  more  than  usu 
ally  elaborate  toilet,  the  party  of  three  was  late  in  making 
its  bow  to  President  and  Mrs.  Monroe  in  the  Blue  Room. 
Morland  left  Kitty  and  the  General  the  moment  these  for 
malities  were  over,  ostensibly  to  hunt  up  Major  Lewis; 
really  to  show  Kitty  that  he  had  sufficient  independence 
not  to  hang  on  to  her  apron  strings  when  she  did  not 
want  him. 

They  had  found  the  Blue  Room  comparatively  deserted, 
but  the  great  East  Room  was  thronged,  and  the  more 
crowded  because  they  had  cleared  a  space  through  the 
centre  for  dancing.  Threading  his  way  through  the  com 
pact  mass  of  onlookers,  Morland  suddenly  came  upon 
Clay,  who  had  stopped  for  a  moment  to  watch  the  dancers. 
Heretofore  neither  of  the  two  men  had  allowed  any  political 
differences  to  interfere  with  the  really  warm  regard  they  en 
tertained  for  one  another,  but  this  last  action  of  Clay's  was 
almost  too  great  a  strain  on  Morland's  affection.  He  was 
about  to  pass  him  with  a  cool  nod  when  Clay  stopped  him. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Morland,"  he  said  with  a  gleam  of 
humour  in  his  eyes.  "Wait  and  see  what  will  happen." 

Morland  followed  the  indication  of  Clay's  eyes  and  saw 
that  Jackson,  with  Kitty  on  his  arm,  was  slowly  approach 
ing  Adams,  also  with  a  lady  on  his  arm.  Neither  was 
aware  of  the  other's  proximity,  but  the  bystanders  were 
rapidly  becoming  aware  of  it  and  drew  back,  allowing  a 
clear  space  for  the  inevitable  meeting.  Into  that  open 
space  the  two  men  stepped  for  a  moment  and,  dazed  by  the 
unexpected  encounter,  they  stopped  involuntarily.  Jack 
son  was  the  first  to  recover  himself.  He  stepped  forward 
with  the  grace  of  a  courtier,  and  extending  his  left  hand 
said  cordially: 


196  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Adams  ?  I  give  you  my  left  hand, 
for  the  right,  as  you  see,  is  devoted  to  the  fair.  I  hope  you 
are  well,  sir." 

Mr.  Adams  returned  the  General's  hearty  grasp  with  a 
slack  one,  and  said  with  chilling  coldness: 

"Very  well,  sir.     I  hope  General  Jackson  is  well?" 

The  two  men  passed  on,  and  Clay  turned  to  Morland 
with  a  soft  "Whew!" 

"Well?"  interrogated  Morland. 

"Any  one  would  think  it  was  Jackson,  the  pioneer 
planter,  the  Indian  fighter,  who  was  used  to  the  ways  of 
courts  and  diplomacy,"  said  Clay  ruefully,  "and  not 
Adams  the  old  courtier  and  diplomat.  He  was  as  genial 
and  gracious  as  Adams  was  stiff  and  cold;  which  is  the 
more  remarkable  when  you  consider  that  he  is  the  defeated 
one  and  Adams  the  victorious." 

"I'm  glad  to  see  that  you  have  the  grace  to  be 
embarrassed  for  your  man,"  said  Morland,  laughing,  but 
he  added  earnestly:  "As  for  my  candidate,  Mr.  Clay,  I 
believe  General  Jackson  could  never  be  placed  in  any 
company  or  in  any  circumstances  where  his  friends  would 
feel  anything  but  a  generous  glow  of  pride  in  him!" 

Clay  was  silent  a  moment  and  Morland  was  about  to 
pass  on,  but  Clay  stopped  him.  Hesitating,  and  with  a 
shyness  very  unusual  to  him,  but  with  a  grace  no  man  could 
resist,  he  said: 

"You  are  not  going  to  let  this  make  any  difference  in 
our  friendship,  John?" 

Morland  hesitated  too,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment, 
then  he  slowly  extended  his  hand  with  a  kind  of  humorous 
vexation : 

"There  's  no  resisting  you,  Harry,  but  you  did  play  us  a 


JOHN  MORLAND  197 

rascally  trick,  and  I  don't  see  why.  I  should  not  have 
supposed  that  you  loved  Adams  any  better  than  you  did 
Jackson." 

"Not  loved  him  more,  but  feared  him  less,"  returned 
Clay,  holding  Morland's  hand  in  his  hearty  grasp.  "  And 
you  ought  to  consider  that  what  it  really  is  —  a  compli 
ment  to  the  old  chieftain." 

It  was  an  hour  later  that  Morland  had  an  encounter 
that  he  liked  less  than  this  one  with  Clay.  He  had  seen 
Kitty  whirling  in  the  dance  with  Montclair,  and  it  had  dis 
pleased  him  greatly.  That  she  should  dance  with  him  was 
bad  enough,  but  Montclair's  marked  air  of  devotion  and 
Kitty's  acceptance  of  it  made  it  still  more  displeasing  to 
Morland.  A  little  later  he  had  seen  her  again  —  this  time 
with  the  English  Ambassador.  But  though  the  Ambassa 
dor  was  almost  as  markedly  devoted  as  Montclair,  Morland 
was  not  so  annoyed  with  him.  He  understood  his  air  of 
devotion  to  be  mere  gallantry,  and  he  said  to  himself  a 
little  grimly: 

"I  wonder  why  no  man  can  come  near  Kitty  without 
making  love  to  her?" 

But  Kitty  was  no  longer  dancing,  and  General  Jackson 
had  signified  to  Morland  that  if  Kitty  was  ready  to  go 
home  he  was  —  he  felt  that  he  had  done  his  duty  and  that 
it  was  well  done.  But  she  had  disappeared.  The  throng 
was  thinning  a  little,  and  through  the  Blue  Room,  the  Red 
Room,  and  the  great  East  Room  Morland  wandered,  but 
could  catch  no  glimpse  of  her. 

Near  the  conservatories  he  came  upon  Miss  Dayton 
rather  restlessly  hovering  about  an  open  door  leading 
into  them,  with  the  air  of  waiting  for  some  one.  Now, 
Morland  liked  Miss  Dayton  no  better  than  did  General 


198  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Jackson,  and  he  would  have  passed  her  with  a  slight  bow, 
as  was  his  custom,  but  she  stopped  him. 

"Are  you  looking  for  Mrs.  Sutherland,  Major  Mor 
land?"  she  inquired  with  an  effort  at  being  smilingly 
arch. 

Morland  flushed  slightly  but  answered  at  once : 

"Yes,  Miss  Dayton,  have  you  seen  her?  General 
Jackson  has  sent  me  to  hunt  her  up;  he  is  ready  to  go 
home." 

"You  will  find  her  in  there,  I  think,"  said  Miss  Dayton, 
indicating  the  conservatory.  And,  still  with  an  attempt 
at  archness,  she  added : 

"When  you  can't  find  a  beautiful  woman,  Major 
Morland,  always  look  for  her  in  a  conservatory  with  some 
foolish  man." 

Morland  could  not,  or  did  not  try  to,  suppress  a  little 
stare  of  astonishment  in  his  honest  blue  eyes  at  Miss 
Dayton's  remarkable  speech.  She  reddened  under  their 
gaze  and  dropped  her  own  for  a  moment,  but  she  lifted  them 
again  quickly  and  returned  his  look  steadily  with  a  glare  of 
mingled  hatred  and  scorn. 

There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  pass  on;  and 
since  it  was  really  necessary  to  find  Kitty  he  must  follow 
Miss  Dayton's  directions,  though  it  was  extremely  distaste 
ful  to  him  to  seem  to  be  keeping  watch  on  Kitty,  and  trying 
to  break  up  any  quiet  little  tete-a-tete  of  hers  with  any 
man,  even  with  Montclair,  who  he  was  quite  certain  was 
the  man  in  this  case  since  Miss  Dayton  was  on  guard  at 
the  door. 

He  came  upon  them  where  he  might  have  expected  to 
find  them  —  in  the  most  secluded  nook  in  the  conservatory, 
screened  in  by  tall  palms  and  flowering  oleanders  and 


JOHN  MORLAND  199 

camellias.  He  had  not  tried  to  come  upon  them  quietly, 
though,  from  a  superfine  feeling  of  delicacy,  neither  had 
he  made  any  too  obviously  noisy  approach;  but  he  saw 
to  his  intense  annoyance  that  they  had  been  too  much 
absorbed  in  each  other  to  notice  the  rustle  of  the  palms  as 
he  brushed  by  them,  or  his  footfall,  slightly  heavier  than 
usual,  on  the  carpeted  conservatory  aisle.  Montclair  was 
bending  tenderly  over  Kitty,  and  at  the  moment  of  Mor- 
land's  approach  had  seized  her  hand,  which  she  rather 
coyly  tried  to  draw  away.  Kitty's  eyes  were  down,  and 
Montclair's  eyes  were  on  Kitty;  neither  of  them  saw  Mor- 
land,  and  it  became  necessary  to  announce  his  presence  by 
speaking: 

"Mrs.  Sutherland,"  he  said,  "General  Jackson  has 
sent  me  to  inquire  if  you  are  ready  to  go  home." 

At  the  first  sound  of  his  voice  Montclair  had  sprung 
guiltily  away  from  Kitty's  side,  and  Kitty  had  lifted  her 
eyes  swiftly  to  Morland's  with  the  look  of  a  frightened  deer 
in  them,  while  the  conscious  crimson  flooded  her  face  and 
bare  white  shoulders.  Her  first  startled  glance  had  been 
one  of  intense  shame,  but  it  changed  in  a  moment  to 
defiance,  and  the  crimson  wave  subsided  as  it  had  risen. 

"I  am  ready,"  she  said  icily  to  Morland,  and  turned  with 
extreme  graciousness  to  say  good-night  to  Montclair, 
who  could  not  so  easily  recover  from  his  mortification  and 
was  still  overwhelmed  with  confusion. 

She  turned  back  to  Morland  with  her  head  high  in  air 
and  refused  his  proffered  arm. 

"Spy!"  she  said  between  her  set  teeth  as  she  swept  by 
him,  and  Morland  had  the  discomfort  of  following  in  her 
wake  with  the  guilty  air  of  a  whipped  spaniel.  He 
was  painfully  conscious,  also,  as  he  passed  Miss  Dayton, 


200  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

still  lying  in  wait  at  the  conservatory  door,  that  a  light  sneer 
of  fine  scorn  curled  her  delicately  chiselled  lips. 

In  the  carriage  on  the  way  home  Kitty  was  gay  and  the 
General  was  jovial.  To  Morland's  sharpened  perceptions 
Kitty's  gaiety  sounded  a  little  strained,  her  voice  pitched 
higher  and  her  manner  more  nervously  excited  than  was 
usual  with  her.  But  the  General  did  not  notice  it,  and 
there  was  nothing  strained  about  his  jollity.  He  was 
in  high  good  humour  with  himself,  for  he  had  acquitted 
himself  creditably  in  a  difficult  situation,  and  he  had  been 
more  sought  after  and  courted  by  admiring  throngs  of  men 
and  women  during  the  evening  than  the  victorious  Adams 
himself. 

"  Drop  me  at  Gadsby's,"  he  had  said  to  Morland.  "  You 
can  see  Kitty  safely  home,  and  I  've  already  been  too  long 
away  from  Rachel.  She  '11  be  waiting  up  for  me  to  hear 
how  I  behaved  this  evening." 

"Tell  her  from  me,"  said  Morland,  earnestly,  "  that  you 
did  us  all  honour  and  your  friends  were  never  so  proud 
of  you." 

"And  tell  her  for  me,"  said  Kitty  gaily,  "that  I  'm  com 
ing  around  to-morrow  to  tell  her  that  next  time  she  must 
come  along  to  look  after  you.  Every  woman  in  the  room 
was  crazy  about  you;  you  were  the  belle  of  the  evening." 

Jackson  liked  such  patent  flattery  from  a  pretty  woman, 
and  he  and  Kitty  fell  into  a  half-playful,  half-affectionate 
chatter  that  required  no  assistance  from  Morland;  for 
which  he  was  grateful,  since  it  left  him  undisturbed  to 
solve  a  problem  that  had  been  presenting  itself  to  him 
pertinaciously  ever  since  his  coming  upon  Kitty  in  the 
conservatory. 

For  the  first  three  minutes  after  the  General  had  left  them 


JOHN  MORLAND  201 

at  Gadsby's  the  silence  was  unbroken  between  Kitty  and 
Morland.  But  with  every  passing  moment  it  grew  more 
difficult  to  break,  and  Morland  knew  that  if  he  was  to  say 
to  Kitty  the  words  he  had  been  conning  over  to  himself 
under  cover  of  the  General's  and  Kitty's  lively  chatter,  he 
must  say  them  at  once,  for  the  distance  from  Gadsby's 
to  McCabe's  was  short. 

"Kitty,"  he  began,  vainly  striving  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  her  face  in  the  dark  corner  of  the  carriage  to  which  she 
had  withdrawn.  He  had  been  sitting  with  his  back  to 
the  horses  while  the  General  had  been  in  the  carriage,  and 
he  had  not  had  the  temerity  to  change  his  seat  after  his 
departure,  so  that  now  he  leaned  slightly  forward  in  his 
effort  to  peer  into  Kitty's  dark  corner. 

"Mrs.  Sutherland,  if  you  please,  hereafter,"  Kitty 
interrupted  him  icily. 

Morland  straightened  himself  up,  waited  a  moment 
for  the  keenness  of  her  shaft  to  have  lost  its  first  sharp 
sting,  and  then  began  again. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  quietly,  "Mrs.  Sutherland,  if  you 
prefer.  But  I  still  hope  that  you  will  believe  that  what 
I  have  to  say  is  prompted  by  the  sincerest  affection  and 
consideration  for  you  and  your  husband." 

He  hesitated  as  if  waiting  for  Kitty  to  reply,  but  she 
made  no  response  and  he  went  on: 

"I  have  reason  to  very  greatly  distrust  Mr.  Montclair, 
and  I  believe  there  can  no  good  come  of  your  having  even 
the  most  innocent  intercourse  with  him." 

There  was  a  slight  rustle  in  Kitty's  corner  as  if  she  were 
stirring  uneasily,  perhaps  getting  ready  for  a  spring, 
was  Morland's  feeling,  and  he  hurried  on : 

"I  believe  him  to  be  as  much  of  a  villain,  or  more  of 


202  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

one,  than  we  both  discovered  him  to  be  four  years  ago. 
He  could  not  possibly  now  have  any  intentions  toward  you 
that  are  honourable,  yet  I  believe  that  he  still  cherishes 
intentions  of  some  sort." 

The  rustle  grew  more  pronounced  and  Morland  hur 
ried  still  more: 

"Moreover,  I  distrust,  almost  as  greatly,  that  young 
lady  friend  of  his  who  was  watching  for  you  both  at  the 
door  of  the  conservatory.  I  dread  her  tongue;  the  mis 
chief  it  can  do  cannot  be  overestimated." 

Now  was  Kitty  to  be  restrained  no  longer.  She  burst 
forth  in  a  perfect  torrent  of  rage  like  some  mad  animal. 

"How  dare  you  call  me  to  account,  sir!  This  is  the 
second  time  you  have  been  so  presuming  and  it  must  be 
the  last.  Who  are  you  to  set  yourself  up  as  judge  of  my 
actions  or  of  Mr.  Montclair's?  Why  did  you  not  let  me 
marry  him  years  ago?  I  would  not,  at  least,  now  be 
dragged  down  to  the  mire  by  a  drunkard.  You  have 
much  sympathy  for  my  husband,  because  you  are  afraid 
I  may  show  too  great  interest  in  some  other  man;  you 
have  none  for  me  when  I  would  try  to  amuse  myself  and 
forget,  for  a  time,  the  horror  and  dread  in  which  I  daily 
live.  You  need  never  speak  to  me  in  this  way  again,  for 
I  assure  you  your  words  have  absolutely  no  effect  upon  me. 
I  shall  go  my  own  way  and  do  as  I  will.  My  husband  goes 
his,  and  seeks  his  low  pleasures  in  ways  that  he  knows  are 
utterly  abhorrent  to  me,  yet  that  knowledge  does  not 
restrain  him  in  the  least.  I  want  to  announce  to  you 
now,  once  and  for  all,  that  I  shall  seek  mine  as  I  please. 
If  every  man  in  Washington  chooses  to  make  love  to  me 
I  shall  get  all  the  pleasure  out  of  it  I  can,  and  all  the 
forgetfulness.  And  understand,  please,  that  I  will  be 


JOHN  MORLAND  203 

restrained  neither  by  fear  of  your  spying  upon  me  nor  of 
Miss  Dayton's  tongue!" 

It  had  been  impossible  to  interrupt  her  tirade  so  far,  but 
here  she  stopped,  either  to  get  breath  or  because  she  had 
finished.  Morland  seized  his  chance  for  the  one  word 
he  must  say. 

"Mrs.  Sutherland,"  he  said  quickly,  "no  one  can 
feel  more  intense  sympathy  than  I  feel  for  you;  but  what 
ever  you  do,  let  Montclair  alone!  For  your  mother's 
sake,  for  your  baby's  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  your  husband 
whom,  in  spite  of  his  faults,  I  believe  you  still  love." 

He  mentally  bowed  his  head  to  the  second  and  stormier 
tirade  that  he  expected  from  Kitty.  To  his  amazement 
her  response  was  a  flood  of  tears  mingled  with  half  sup 
pressed  sobs  and  moans.  He  would  have  liked  to  take  her 
hand  and  assure  her,  by  a  silent  pressure,  of  his  sympathy, 
but  the  memory  of  Montclair's  holding  it  with  far  other 
intention  deterred  him;  and  all  he  could  do  was  to  murmur 
over  and  over  under  his  breath: 

"Kitty!    Kitty!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  FLOWING  RIVER 

THERE  was  great  news  awaiting  Kitty  when  she 
stepped  into  the  parallelogram  of  light  before  the 
open  door  at  McCabe's  with  the  tears  still  trembling  on 
her  curly  lashes. 

It  was  surprise  enough  to  find  her  husband  standing  at 
the  carriage  door  ready  to  help  her  out.  She  had  not 
expected  him  home  so  early,  nor  had  she  looked  for  him  in 
the  partially  sober  state  in  which  he  now  presented  himself. 
He  was  sober  enough  to  discover  the  trace  of  tears,  and  not 
quite  sober  enough  to  try  to  veil  the  angry  and  suspicious 
glance  he  darted  at  Morland. 

But  this  surprise  was  as  nothing  to  the  one  that  followed. 
With  formal  courtesy  and  a  step  that  he  vainly  tried  to 
keep  perfectly  steady,  Sutherland  conducted  his  wife 
through  the  room  full  of  men  to  her  mother's  parlour. 
There  Kitty  learned  the  tidings  that  had  sobered  her  hus 
band  and  was  to  make  her,  for  the  time  at  least,  forgive 
him  all  the  heartaches  he  had  caused  her.  The  Argus 
was  ordered  to  the  Mediterranean  on  a  three  years'  cruise 
and  Sutherland  must  join  his  ship  within  the  month. 
Kitty  was  instantly  in  an  agony  of  repentance.  She  vowed 
to  herself  she  would  never  look  at  Montclair  again  and 
that,  come  what  would,  she  would  be  patient  and  forgiving 
with  her  husband. 

It  was  comparatively  little  forgiveness  that  he  needed 

204 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    205 

in  the  days  that  followed.  He  had  known  that  sailing 
orders  might  be  expected  at  any  time,  but  he  had  not 
realized  the  wrench  it  would  be  to  tear  himself  away  from 
Kitty  and  his  baby.  He  was  a  fond  father  when  he  was 
sober,  and  a  proud  one,  and  he  loved  Kitty  as  genuinely 
and  as  ardently  as  it  was  in  him  to  love.  It  was  not  the 
perfect  love  that  casteth  out  fear,  for  at  the  slightest  pro 
vocation  he  was  capable  of  being  insanely  jealous;  but  it 
was  an  intense  passion  mingled  with  much  pride  in  her 
beauty  and  grace.  He  was  showing  all  the  devotion  of  his 
early  marriage  in  these  last  days,  and  Kitty  was  supremely 
happy. 

The  mornings  were  filled  with  work  for  both  of  them. 
Sutherland  was  full  of  business  at  the  Navy  Yard  and  at 
the  navy  department  in  the  city,  for  there  is  much  to  be 
done  by  the  lieutenant  of  a  ship  in  getting  ready  for  a  three 
years'  cruise;  and  Kitty's  mornings  were  filled  with  delight 
ful  tasks  all  pertaining  to  caring  for  baby  with  renewed 
tenderness,  or  to  fitting  out  her  husband  with  every  con 
ceivable  comfort  for  this  long  absence.  Their  afternoons 
were  given  to  each  other  in  riding  or  driving,  and  their 
evenings  to  society;  for  Kitty  was  proud  of  her  husband 
again  and  eager  to  show  him  in  the  places  from  which  he 
had  been  absent  for  months. 

All  this  programme  required  sobriety  on  Sutherland's 
part,  and  in  the  main  he  was  succeeding  in  keeping  to  it. 
As  for  Kitty,  if  she  met  Montclair  at  dinners  or  evening 
parties  she  hardly  noticed  him;  certainly  no  more  than 
she  did  any  other  man  she  met,  who  must  always  worship 
a  little  at  Kitty's  shrine  —  a  worship  she  received  now  with 
gay  and  lovely  indifference,  too  happy  to  be  flattered  by 
it.  Montclair  was  not  the  man  to  take  such  treatment 


206 

patiently  —  his  vanity  was  too  deeply  wounded  by  it  — 
but  he  knew,  as  did  all  Washington,  that  Kitty's  husband 
was  ordered  off,  and  he  bided  his  time. 

The  days  flew  by  with  incredible  swiftness  to  Kitty,  and 
before  she  could  realize  it  Inauguration  Day,  less  than 
four  weeks  from  the  election,  was  at  hand.  It  was  also 
to  be  Sutherland's  last  day  at  home.  He  had  stayed  over 
for  the  inauguration,  when  he  should  have  been  well  on 
his  way  to  Hampton  Roads,  simply  because  he  could 
neither  resist  Kitty's  entreaties  nor  his  own  desire  to  see 
her  in  evening  dress  once  more,  surrounded  by  admiring 
throngs.  But,  as  it  proved,  perhaps  it  was  a  pity  that  he 
had  not  adhered  more  strictly  to  the  line  of  duty. 

They  were  among  the  earliest  arrivals  at  the  White 
House  at  the  inauguration  reception  in  the  evening,  and 
all  went  well  for  awhile.  Kitty  had  a  new  frock  for  the 
occasion  —  since  she  was  to  have  her  husband  to  admire 
her  in  it  —  and  never  had  she  looked  more  radiantly 
lovely.  Jackson  was  there,  almost  the  first  to  congratulate 
the  new  President  heartily,  and  treating  Kitty,  as  he  always 
did,  like  a  dear  daughter.  And  Morland  was  there  with 
such  admiration  in  his  eyes  for  Kitty,  whenever  they  fell 
upon  her,  that  it  is  a  wonder  her  husband  did  not 
resent  it. 

But  Sutherland  had  long  since  forgotten  any  little  sus 
picions  of  Morland  he  may  have  entertained  on  the  night 
when  he  brought  Kitty  home  in  his  carriage  in  tears. 
Morland  had  seen  but  little  of  Kitty  since  that  evening, 
for  her  husband  had  engrossed  her  and  Morland  was 
genuinely  happy  in  Kitty's  happiness,  but  he  had  seen 
much  of  her  husband.  He  was  sticking  to  his  resolve  to 
make  a  friend  of  him,  and  since  Sutherland  felt  himself  to 


JOHN  MORLAND  207 

be  doing  right  he  did  not  shun  Morland,  as  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  doing  when  his  conscience  troubled  him,  but 
sought  his  room  frequently  for  a  quiet  chat  over  a  cigar. 
In  these  talks,  which  Morland  often  succeeded  in  directing 
into  intimate  and  serious  channels,  the  rather  incongruous 
friendship  between  the  two  was  gradually  welded  to  a 
strength  and  firmness  no  light  strain  could  break. 

It  was  owing  to  that  skilful  welding  on  Moreland's  part 
that  late  in  the  evening  of  the  inauguration  Sutherland 
sought  him  with  a  troubled  air  and  asked  him  to  come  out 
on  the  terrace  with  him  for  a  few  minutes'  talk. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Morland,  as  the  two  men  stood 
looking  down  on  the  Potomac  gleaming  white  in  the 
moonlight. 

"Everything  's  wrong! "  answered  Sutherland,  so  gloom 
ily  that  Morland  could  hardly  recognize  the  gay  young 
fellow  of  the  early  evening.  He  was  lighting  his  cigar 
as  he  spoke,  and  he  puffed  at  it  two  or  three  times  before 
he  went  on  moodily: 

"I  wish  to  heaven  I  had  left  the  navy  when  I  married! 
it 's  no  place  for  a  married  man.  And  just  as  Kitty  and 
I  are  getting  on  so  famously  I  have  to  go  off  and  leave  her 
for  three  years,  and  there  's  no  knowing  what  will  happen 
in  that  time!" 

"Nothing  serious,  I  hope,"  said  Morland  encourag 
ingly,  who  concluded  Sutherland's  gloom  was  a  very 
natural  one,  due  to  the  impending  parting.  "  But  I  own  it 
is  hard  to  have  to  leave  a  wife  and  baby  for  three  years, 
though  there  are  always  letters  and  the  joy  of  the  return 
to  look  forward  to." 

Sutherland  did  not  answer  at  first,  then  he  said  abruptly 
"  Do  you  know  that  fellow  Montclair  ?  " 


208  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"  Slightly,"  returned  Morland  stiffly — he  hated  the  name. 

"You  don't  seem  to  like  him  any  better  than  I  do,"  said 
Sutherland  grimly.  "I  am  going  to  ask  a  favour  of  you, 
Senator.  As  an  older  man  and  an  old  friend,  I  am  sure 
anything  you  say  or  do  will  have  great  weight  with  Kitty; 
will  you  see  that  she  has  nothing  to  do  with  Monclair? 
And  will  you  look  out  for  her  when  I  am  away,  and  if  you 
see  her  doing  things  that  would  be  likely  to  get  her  talked 
about,  will  you  give  her  some  of  that  friendly  advice  you  Ve 
been  giving  me  ?  Not  that  I  don't  trust  Kitty,"  he  added 
quickly,  seeing  a  little  look  of  embarrassment  on  Mor- 
land's  face.  "I  wish  I  could  trust  myself  half  as  well; 
but  she  's  young,  and  she  loves  pleasure,  and  she  's  very 
beautiful.  All  that  in  itself  would  be  a  dangerous  combina 
tion,  but  I  believe  that  you  can  add  to  the  combination 
that  there  is  a  villain  determined  to  injure  her,  in  reputa 
tion  at  least!" 

He  said  this  last  so  bitterly  and  with  such  intensity  that 
Morland  answered  only  that  part  of  his  speech. 

"Why  —  what  have  you  seen  or  heard?"  he  asked, 
quietly  but  keenly. 

"  I  saw  Kitty  turn  him  down  this  evening  very  neatly. 
I  was  proud  of  the  way  she  did  it.  But  I  saw,  what  she 
could  not,  that  he  followed  her  with  a  look  that  meant 
revenge,  and  made  me  almost  ready  to  throw  up  my  com 
mission  and  stay  at  home." 

"I  wish  you  could,"  said  Morland  seriously,  "but  if 
you  can't,  console  yourself  that  looks  don't  kill." 

"There  was  more  than  the  look.  Just  before  I  called 
you  out  here  I  overheard  him  talking  to  a  young  lady. 
She  was  teasing  him  about  somebody  that  had  snubbed 
him,  and  I  thought  from  the  tones  of  her  voice  she  was  a 


JOHN  MORLAND  209 

bit  jealous  herself,  and  from  Montclair's  words  and  manner 
that  he  was  quite  willing  that  she  should  be.  He  seemed 
almost  to  sneer  as  he  answered  her:  'Oh,  don't  laugh  too 
soon,'  he  said,  '  I  '11  have  chances  to  pay  her  back.  Her 
husband  leaves  to-morrow  for  a  three  years'  cruise.'  Of 
course  then  I  knew  he  meant  Kitty." 

The  two  men  were  silent  for  a  moment.  Morland  was 
thinking  hard  and  Sutherland  was  looking  off  at  the  river 
as  if  fascinated  by  the  white  flood  flowing  swiftly  down 
under  the  moonlight  to  the  distant  bay.  Morland  broke 
the  silence. 

"I  know  something  of  this  Montclair,  Sutherland," 
he  said  quietly,  "and  I  do  not  believe  he  is  to  be  greatly 
feared.  No  doubt  he  is  capable  of  thinking  all  kinds  of 
evil,  but  he  is  too  much  of  a  coward  to  carry  it  out.  And 
I  have  not  answered  your  request  —  I  will  look  out  for 
your  wife,  and  just  as  you  would  if  you  were  here.  She 
shall  not  suffer  in  her  reputation  through  Montclair  or 
any  one  else  if  I  can  help  it." 

Morland  spoke  with  something  of  the  same  grim  vehem 
ence  Sutherland  had  used.  It  seemed  to  comfort  Suther 
land  for  a  moment,  but  he  broke  out  again  immediately. 

"My  God!  To  think  that  I  could  listen  to  such  words 
and  not  call  the  man  out!"  he  exclaimed  passionately. 
"But  two  hours  from  now  I  must  be  on  my  horse  on  my 
way  to  the  West  Shore  where  the  launch  will  meet  me  at  a 
point  near  Westmoreland.  I  promised  to  be  there  by  ten 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  dare  not  risk  any  delay. 
They  will  not  wait  for  me  and  my  ship  will  sail  without 
me  if  I  am  not  on  time.  W'hat  shall  I  do,  Major 
Morland  ?  Shall  I  throw  up  my  commission  and  stay, 
and  have  him  out?" 


210    THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

"No,"  said  Morland,  "He  's  not  worth  it.  As  I  said, 
he  's  a  coward.  I  doubt  whether  you  would  ever  get  him  to 
meet  you,  and  it  is  not  as  if  he  had  made  such  a  speech  in 
public,  in  the  presence  of  honourable  people.  I  have  an 
idea  the  young  lady  to  whom  he  spoke  is  not  much  better 
than  he." 

"You  're  right,  I  suppose,"  said  Sutherland  slowly, 
and  then,  with  a  little  gesture  of  concentrated  irritation, 
as  if  dismissing  the  whole  unpleasant  subject,  he  added : 

"But  I  must  go  and  get  Kitty.  She  does  not  know 
that  I  am  leaving  so  soon  —  she  thinks  it  is  not  until  to- 
to-morrow.  Poor  girl!" 

He  started  to  go  back  into  the  house,  but  stopped  and 
turned  once  more  to  the  flowing  river.  He  gazed  at 
it,  as  if  fascinated,  for  a  full  minute,  while  Morland 
stood  quietly  watching  him.  With  an  effort  he  roused 
himself  and  turned  to  Morland  with  a  little  shiver. 

"Ugh!"  he  said,  "I  hate  it!  It  flows  on  so  steadily  and 
so  relentlessly;  no  power  on  earth  can  stop  it,  even  for  a 
second!  And,  just  beyond,  it  rushes  down  into  the  great 
waters  of  the  Chesapeake  and  is  lost  forever.  I  shudder 
when  I  look  at  it.  I  feel  as  if  it  were  whirling  me  down 
with  it  into  that  great  gulf.  Lost  —  lost!" 

It  was  evident  that  some  strong  emotion  was  over 
mastering  him;  some  dark  premonition  born  of  his  con 
sciousness  of  his  own  weak  will  that  left  him  powerless  — 
a  plaything  in  the  hands  of  fate.  While  Morland  had  little 
sympathy  for  weakness,  he  respected  Sutherland's 
emotion;  it  was  too  genuine  and  had  too  real  a  reason  for 
its  being  to  be  lightly  scoffed  at.  The  two  men  turned  and 
went  silently  back  to  the  brilliantly  lighted  house;  to  the 
gay  throngs,  to  music,  and  flowers,  and  wine,  and  —  Kitty. 


CHAPTER  X 

ON  THE'  BLUFFS  AT  ARLINGTON 

AMID  torrents  of  tears  from  Kitty,  Sutherland  started 
on  his  lonely  ride  through  the  pine  barrens  of  the 
West  Shore  to  overtake  the  launch  that  was  to  bear  him  to 
the  Argus,  waiting  for  him  in  Hampton  Roads. 

Late  as  it  was,  Morland  and  Mrs.  McCabe  were  up  to 
speed  his  parting  with  what  cheer  they  could,  but  he  and 
Kitty  had  had  a  quiet  half-hour  of  farewells  in  their  own 
room  after  the  last  thing  had  gone  into  his  tightly  packed 
saddle-bags.  In  that  hour,  they  had  made  many  promises 
of  mutual  devotion  and  constancy.  They  were  to  write 
interminable  letters  to  one  another  —  though  in  that  day 
all  letters  were  interminable,  since  postage  was  no  small 
item  —  and  Kitty  voluntarily  pledged  herself  to  be  such  a 
model  of  prudence  in  society  and  devotion  to  her  baby  at 
home  as  should  win  for  her  the  title  of  another  Penelope. 
Sutherland  on  his  part  had  many  pledges  to  make  also. 
A  mail  should  never  cross  the  Atlantic  that  did  not  bring 
reams  of  letters  to  his  Kitty;  and  as  for  his  one  fatal  habit, 
he  would  break  its  chains  if  it  cost  him  his  life! 

With  more  faith  in  each  other  than  they  had  felt  since 
the  epoch-making  dinner  party  at  Kalorama  they  parted, 
and  for  the  first  few  months  of  their  separation  their 
promises  were  unbroken,  and  Morland  went  home  to 
Tennessee  at  the  close  of  the  extra  session  with  a  light 
heart  about  Kitty.  So  far  there  had  not  been  a  breath  of 

211 


21 2  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

gossip  about  her  that  he  could  discover  in  gossip-loving 
Washington. 

It  was  the  era  of  the  "Bargain  and  Corruption"  cry. 
It  broke  out  before  the  election,  raged  bitterly  in  the  inter 
val  between  the  election  and  the  inauguration,  and  showed 
no  symptoms  of  dying  out  in  the  months  that  followed  the 
inauguration.  It  was  the  great  rally  cry  of  the  second 
Jackson  campaign  which,  unlike  most  campaigns,  set  in 
in  earnest  on  the  very  heels  of  its  predecessor.  Adams  had 
hardly  taken  his  seat  in  the  Presidential  chair,  when  Jack 
son's  name  was  ringing  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Gulf 
as  candidate  for  1828.  His  going  home,  after  the  Senate 
rose  in  the  spring,  was  a  triumphal  progress:  banqueting 
and  speech-making  in  every  town,  and  the  people  welcom 
ing  him  with  the  acclaims  of  thousands,  as  if  he  were  a 
conquering  hero  instead  of  a  defeated  candidate. 

Adams  would  have  liked  to  be  his  own  successor.  Almost 
every  President  up  to  this  time  had  served  two  terms; 
should  he  be  an  exception  to  that  rule,  it  would  look 
as  if  his  administration  had  failed  of  the  people's  approval, 
and  he  was  sensitively  alive  to  the  stigma  of  such  a  failure. 
But  there  was  not  much  hope  for  Adams  with  that "  Bargain 
and  Corruption"  cry  dinned  into  the  ears  of  the  people  by 
the  Jackson  politicians,  until  Jackson  became  no  longer 
the  great  military  idol  alone,  he  was  also  the  great  political 
martyr,  whom  Clay  had  sold  to  Adams  in  return  for  the 
portfolio  of  State. 

And  if  it  was  a  cry  that  destroyed  all  chances  of  Adams 
succeeding  himself,  still  more  was  it  a  cry  that  hounded 
Clay  in  the  Presidential  contests  of  the  future  and  kept 
him  from  ever  getting  within  reach  of  the  Presidential  chair. 
Knowing  the  two  men,  as  the  clear  and  impartial  light  of 


JOHN  MORLAND  213 

history  has  revealed  them,  since  the  smoke  of  contest  has 
cleared  away,  it  is  impossible  to  believe  that  Adams,  the 
soul  of  integrity,  could  offer,  or  Clay,  the  exponent  of 
honour,  accept  the  portfolio  of  State  as  the  price  of  the 
Presidency.  But  the  Jackson  men  believed  it,  and  were 
all  the  more  ready  to  believe  it  because  some  of  them  had 
tried  to  persuade  Jackson  to  make  Clay  the  same  offer. 
The  old  hero  had  repelled  the  suggestion  with  scorn;  he 
would  have  the  Presidency  only  as  the  gift  of  the  people, 
and  take  it  with  clean  hands,  or  not  at  all.  But  some  of  his 
followers  were  not  so  scrupulous. 

Yet,  innocent  as  we  must  believe  Clay  to  have  been  of  the 
crime  of  selling  the  Presidency,  no  one  could  deny  that  he 
was  guilty  of  another  great  crime  —  the  betraying  of  the 
people.  The  people  had  clearly  indicated  their  choice; 
what  right  had  he  to  set  up  his  individual  judgment  against 
the  sovereign  will  of  the  people!  Dearly  he  suffered  for 
his  crime,  and  to  him,  who  coveted  the  Presidency  as  the 
fitting  crown  to  a  brilliant  career  more  ardently  than  almost 
any  American  has  ever  coveted  it,  it  must  have  seemed,  in 
those  later  years  when  again  and  again  he  offered  himself 
as  candidate  in  vain,  that  his  punishment  was  out  of  pro 
portion  to  his  sin.  He  had  robbed  the  people's  idol  of  the 
Presidency,  and  the  people  could  not  forget  it  when  he 
sought  their  suffrages  for  himself. 

With  all  the  stir  of  the  times  and  Morland,  close  at  Jack 
son's  side,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  tumult,  there  was  little 
time  to  dwell  on  Kitty's  affairs  through  that  summer  and 
fall.  Therein  lies  the  radical  difference  between  a  man's 
life  and  a  woman's  life.  Had  Kitty  been  as  deeply 
interested  in  Morland  as  Morland  was  in  Kitty,  she  would 
have  thought  of  him,  brooded  over  her  relations  to  him, 


214  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

been  absorbed  in  him  to  the  paling  of  every  other  interest 
in  life.  But  Morland  was  feeling  comparatively  secure 
about  Kitty,  and  the  love  of  Jackson's  friends  for  their 
chieftain  was  passing  the  love  of  women,  making  such  de 
mands  on  their  affection  and  their  thoughts  as  left  little 
room  for  other  affections  and  other  thoughts. 

When  it  came  time  to  return  to  Congress  in  the  fall  it 
seemed  best  to  the  heads  of  the  party  that  Morland  should 
give  up  his  seat  for  the  next  year.  Jackson  had  resigned 
from  the  Senate,  and  Morland 's  place  was  at  Jackson's 
side,  if  that  campaign,  already  inaugurated,  was  to  sweep  on 
to  triumph  in  1828.  It  was  not  without  a  struggle  that  Mor 
land  consented  to  this  arrangement.  He  had  his  party's 
pledge  that  at  the  end  of  the  year  he  should  have  his  seat 
again,  but  the  thought  of  his  promise  to  Sutherland  and  the 
fear  of  what  might  happen  to  Kitty  in  those  intervening 
months,  with  his  guard  and  protection  withdrawn  from  her, 
filled  him  with  an  anxiety  akin  to  a  mother's  anxiety  for  a 
wayward  child.  He  wrote  to  Sutherland  telling  him 
of  how  little  use  to  him  he  could  be,  but  Sutherland's 
reply  was  cheerful.  He  and  Kitty  were  evidently 
living  up  to  their  parting  vows;  Sutherland  himself  had 
no  fears  for  his  wife;  it  would  be  foolish  in  Morland 
to  entertain  any. 

Nevertheless,  that  he  might  keep  in  touch  with  her  in  his 
absence,  and  be  ready  to  go  to  her  if  she  should  need  him, 
he  entered  into  a  correspondence  with  both  Kitty  and 
Kitty's  mother.  Their  letters,  happy  in  tone  and  full  of 
cheery  gossip,  reassured  him  more  than  anything  else 
could.  Once  also,  in  the  Januaiy  of  1826,  he  made  a  flying 
trip  to  Washington  and  all  seemed  well  to  him  there.  He 
heard  no  gossip,  he  saw  nothing  of  Montclair,  and 


JOHN  MORLAND  215 

Kitty's  frequent  letters  from  her  husband  brought  her 
undisguised  delight. 

In  the  fall  of  1826  Morland  went  back  to  take  his  seat 
once  more  in  the  Senate.  He  found  Kitty's  baby  a  golden- 
haired  angel  of  two  years  with  the  spirituelle  beauty  of  its 
grandmother  rather  than  the  radiantly  human  beauty  of 
its  mother.  Kitty  seemed  to  him  a  devoted  mother; 
certainly  she  was  very  proud  of  her  beautiful  child,  and  he 
did  not  for  the  first  week  or  two  discover  that  all  was  not 
as  well  as  when  he  had  been  in  Washington  the  winter 
before.  Then  there  began  to  drift  to  him  bits  of  gossip, 
idle  and  of  little  weight,  but  always  connecting  Kitty's 
name  with  Montclair.  How  such  a  state  of  affairs  had 
come  about  Morland  could  not  at  first  guess,  but  gradually, 
from  his  own  observation  and  from  an  occasional  word  let 
drop  by  Kitty's  anxious  mother,  and  sometimes  by  a  bitter 
one  from  Kitty,  he  pieced  out  for  himself  an  explanation 
that  came  very  near  to  being  the  correct  one. 

Sutherland's  letters  had,  for  nearly  a  year,  come  regu 
larly  and  been  satisfactory  in  length  and  contents.  Then 
they  had  come  at  longer  and  longer  intervals  and  much 
shrunken  in  volume.  Kitty  grew  restless,  then  reckless 
and  bitter.  She,  too,  wrote  seldom,  and  when  her  letters 
were  not  filled  with  bitter  reproaches  they  were  but  a  brief 
statement  of  the  weather  and  the  welfare  of  herself  and  the 
baby.  She  guessed  the  cause  of  her  husband's  derelictions, 
but  the  first  confirmation  of  her  fears  came  through  Mont 
clair,  whom  she  met  one  evening  at  dinner  and  whose 
attentions  she  recklessly  courted  instead  of,  as  had  been  her 
habit  for  the  last  year,  disdainfully  ignoring  them.  He 
insinuated,  as  delicately  as  he  could  manage  it,  that 
through  letters  from  some  of  his  friends  on  the  Argus  he 


216  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

had  learned  that  Sutherland  was  drinking  heavily,  and  he 
started  to  express  his  sympathy  for  Sutherland's  wife. 
But  Kitty  flamed  out  on  him  in  a  way  that  made  Mont- 
clair  drop  the  subject  of  Sutherland's  sins  as  if  it  were  a 
hot  coal.  For  a  while  Kitty  hated  Montclair,  and  refused 
to  see  him  or  talk  to  him.  None  the  less  did  he  take  his 
first  opportunity,  a  few  weeks  later,  to  let  her  know  that  he 
had  further  tidings  from  the  Argus,  and  they  were  no 
better  than  the  first.  Kitty  was  again  resentful,  but  more 
mildly  so;  and  Montclair  persisting  in  his  insidious  course, 
there  came  a  time  when  Kitty  listened  to  his  tales  of  her 
husband  and  accepted  his  proffered  sympathy. 

Morland  had  come  back  to  Washington  with  the  inten 
tion  of  rather  shunning  society.  He  had  been  a  social 
favourite  for  years  and  he  was  tiring  of  it;  now  he  decided 
to  refuse  no  more  invitations  to  dinners  and  dances,  and  to 
go  everywhere  that  Kitty  went.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  duty 
he  had  set  himself  —  a  sort  of  police  duty  —  and  it  was 
particularly  repellent  to  a  man  of  Morland 's  tastes  and 
feelings,  but  he  was  mindful  of  his  promise  to  Sutherland 
and  he  regretted  that  he  had  been  necessarily  faithless  to 
it  thus  far. 

In  the  months  that  followed  Morland  was  Kitty's  con 
stant  escort  to  every  place  that  needed  an  escort.  Mont 
clair  found  little  chance  to  speak  to  her,  except  under  the 
eye  of  Morland  or  in  the  midst  of  throngs.  He  chafed  at 
this,  but  only  set  himself  the  more  keenly  and  the  more 
cunningly  to  elude  Morland 's  vigilance,  and  to  improve 
every  chance  moment  with  Kitty  by  showing  himself  to 
her  in  the  most  attractive  light.  He  knew  Kitty's  weak 
points;  he  knew  that  she  needed  the  sweets  of  flattery 
in  her  mental  pabulum  as  much  as  she  needed  sugar  in 


JOHN  MORLAND  217 

her  tea,  and  he  lost  no  opportunity,  if  only  by  a  glance  or  a 
word,  of  offering  it  to  her.  This  was  in  strong  contrast 
to  Morland's  methods,  who  was  more  likely  to  take  the  role 
with  Kitty  of  stern  mentor  than  of  beguiling  flatterer,  and 
Kitty  began  to  be  drawn  by  the  sugar-coated  bait  of  the 
one,  and  to  fret  a  little  under  the  sternness  of  the  other. 

There  were  times  when  she  hated  Montclair,  and  times 
when  she  was  totally  indifferent  to  him;  but  there  were  also 
times  when  he  attracted  her  powerfully  with  a  fascination 
she  could  neither  explain  nor  resist.  Now  that  her  inter 
views  with  him  had  become,  in  a  sense,  stolen  ones,  she 
began  to  look  forward  to  them  with  something  of  the  same 
eagerness  she  had  felt  in  her  school-girl  days  in  clandestine 
meetings  with  boy  lovers  when  she  had  eluded  the  vigilance 
of  her  teachers.  Morland  had  succeeded  in  putting  a  stop 
to  the  gossip  about  Montclair  and  Kitty,  but  he  had  accom 
plished  it  at  the  expense  of  arousing  in  Kitty  a  much  more 
dangerous  interest  in  Montclair  than  she  had  yet  felt,  and 
—  a  thing  of  which  neither  he  nor  Kitty  dreamed,  but  over 
which  Montclair  chuckled  with  secret  pleasure  —  he  had 
set  the  gossips'  tongues  wagging  about  himself  and  Kitty. 
To  Kitty,  to  whom  her  relation  to  Morland  had  always 
seemed  a  filial  one,  and  to  Morland,  who  knew  so  well  the 
purity  of  his  own  motives,  such  a  result  would  have  seemed 
impossible  if  it  had  ever  been  suggested  to  them. 

But  fortunately  it  was  not,  for  Morland  had  set  himself 
in  earnest  to  win  Kitty  away  from  Montclair,  and  no 
thought  of  self  obtruded  to  weaken  his  purpose.  He  had 
rare  gifts  socially,  and  he  commanded  all  the  arts  of  which 
he  was  master  to  his  aid  in  this  two-handed  contest.  It 
was  two-handed,  because  he  recognized  that  it  was  not  so 
much  Montclair  he  must  train  his  guns  upon  as  Kitty. 


218  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Montclair  was  to  be  met  with  his  own  weapons  of  schem 
ing  and  contriving  to  prevent  as  much  as  possible  his  getting 
access  to  Kitty;  but  to  Kitty  he  must  lay  regular  siege, 
charming  her  into  indifference  or  forge tfulness  of  Mont 
clair.  If  he  could  accomplish  that  he  would  have  nothing 
to  fear  from  him. 

It  was  fortunate  also,  or  so  Morland  thought,  that 
an  extra  session  of  Congress  was  summoned  this  year, 
and  he  could  be  on  guard  through  the  enticing  spring 
months  when  opening  buds,  and  mating  birds,  and  soft 
languorous  breezes  all  woo  to  youthful  indiscretions;  and 
still  more  fortunate  that  Kitty  and  Janet  were  invited  to 
spend  the  summer  on  the  Jamestown  plantation  with 
Sutherland's  family;  he  could  go  back  to  Tennessee  feeling 
quite  safe  about  Kitty. 

He  set  his  return  to  Washington  in  the  fall  at  as  early  a 
date  as  he  could  find  any  excuse  for  setting  it,  but  he  was 
quite  sure,  from  almost  the  first  moment  of  his  meeting 
Kitty,  that  it  had  not  been  early  enough,  and  he  would  have 
much  of  his  work  to  do  over.  Kitty  had  stayed  on  the 
Virginia  plantation  until  the  last  of  September,  but  she 
had  been  in  Washington  six  weeks  without  Morland,  and 
Montclair  had  not  neglected  his  opportunities. 

To  do  Kitty  justice,  Montclair  had  found  it  more  dif 
ficult  to  regain  his  lost  ground  than  he  had  expected. 
Kitty  was  so  angry  with  her  husband  —  since  his  letters 
had  almost  entirely  ceased,  and  reports  of  his  misdoings 
were  more  frequent  and  more  unforgivable  —  that  it  was 
from  no  sense  of  loyalty  to  him  that  she  was  restrained  from 
receiving  Montclair's  attentions.  But  she  was,  in  a 
measure,  restrained  by  a  feeling  of  loyalty  to  Sutherland's 
family,  by  whom  she  had  been  so  cordially  entertained  all 


JOHN  MORLAND  219 

summer;  and,  although  she  did  not  fully  recognize  it,  also 
by  a  feeling  that  while  she  was  perfectly  willing  to  try  to 
elude  Morland's  vigilance  when  he  was  on  guard,  it  seemed 
a  little  like  violating  a  parole  to  take  advantage  of  his 
absence.  So  long  had  she  been  accustomed  to  regard  him 
as  a  mentor,  that  though  she  often  resented  what  she  called 
his  "  interferences, "  she  yet  tacitly  acknowledged  his  right 
to  them. 

But  whatever  Montclair's  other  qualities  were  he  had 
one  admirable  one  —  the  rather  rare  quality  of  keeping 
his  purpose  steadily  in  view  and  deviating  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left  until  he  had  accomplished  it.  His 
purpose  now  was  not  the  simple  one  of  seeking  to  amuse 
himself  with  Kitty  —  the  amusement  was  to  be  merely 
incidental;  his  real  aim  was  to  annoy  Morland  to  the  extent 
of  his  ability  and  to  have  his  revenge  on  Kitty  for  the 
several  discomfitures  he  had  suffered  at  her  hands  by 
making  her  the  subject  of  ill-natured  gossip.  That  he 
would  be  the  subject  of  the  same  gossip  did  not  at 
all  daunt  him;  to  be  regarded  as  a  dangerous  man 
with  the  ladies  was.  a  reputation  he  rather  coveted  than 
shunned. 

Against  such  definiteness  of  purpose,  Kitty,  the  prey  to 
every  passing  emotion,  flitting  through  life  lightly  and 
aimlessly  as  any  butterfly,  had  no  weapons  to  contend, 
and  scruples  and  resistance  were  both  fast  melting  away 
before  the  fascination  of  Montclair  when  Morland 
appeared  on  the  scene.  Through  all  that  winter  he  did 
not  relax  his  efforts  to  make  himself  ubiquitous  where 
Kitty  was,  and  thereby  circumvent  Montclair;  and  though 
he  was  not  quite  as  successful  as  he  had  been  through  the 
preceding  winter  in  preventing  Montclair  from  seeing  much 


220  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

of  Kitty,  he  was  quite  as  successful  in  getting  himself 
talked  about  —  much  to  Montclair's  delight. 

The  spring  was  at  hand,  and  it  was  nearing  the  time 
when  Morland  must  return  to  Tennessee.  He  could  find 
no  pretext  for  remaining  in  Washington  longer  than  the 
middle  of  April.  Although  it  was  the  long  session  of  Con 
gress,  Tennessee  was  calling  him  and  he  must  go.  He 
greatly  dreaded  leaving  Kitty,  knowing  that  even  should 
the  Sutherlands  again  invite  her  to  Virginia  there  must 
still  be  an  interval  of  a  month  or  two  of  tempting  spring 
weather,  with  Washington  at  its  loveliest,  when  she  would 
be  at  the  mercy  of  Montclair.  In  his  perplexity  Morland 
sometimes  thought  of  writing  Sutherland  to  throw  up  his 
commission  and  come  home  and  look  after  Kitty,  who,  he 
frankly  acknowledged,  was  too  much  for  him. 

Kitty  had  not  realized  that  in  these  three  years  of  her 
husband's  absence  she  had  been  gradually  dropping  out 
of  society,  that  invitations  came  less  and  less  frequently, 
and  that  now  it  was  rare,  indeed,  that  she  was  included  in 
any  of  the  formal  parties  of  society  proper.  But  Morland 
had  noticed  it  and  resented  it  keenly  for  Kitty's  sake; 
and  though  invitations  continued  to  pour  in  upon  him, 
since  he  was  still  Washington's  most  eligible  bachelor,  it 
was  seldom  that  he  accepted  any  of  them. 

Early  in  April,  Washington  was  agog  with  rumours  of 
a  great  garden  party  to  be  given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Custis 
of  Arlington,  and  those  who  hung  on  the  fringes  of  society 
with  an  uncertain  grasp  were  in  agonies  of  suspense  lest 
they  should  be  omitted  from  the  list  of  guests.  No  such 
doubts  seemed  to  assail  Kitty.  Though  her  acquaintance 
with  Mrs.  Custis  was  slight,  she  talked  as  happily  of  the 
anticipated  joys  of  the  Arlington  party  as  if  her  invitation 


JOHN  MORLAND  221 

were  already  assured,  and  her  only  perplexity  was  to  decide 
upon  the  frock  that  would  be  most  becoming  and  most 
proper  for  the  occasion.  Mrs.  McCabe  and  Morland  had 
no  such  feeling  of  certainty. 

"  I  think  I  '11  wear  my  sprigged  lavender  dimity, 
mother,"  said  Kitty  one  evening  in  Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour, 
as  she  was  talking  gaily  of  the  all-absorbing  theme  to  Mor 
land  and  her  mother.  "  And  I  must  have  a  new  bonnet 
trimmed  with  lilacs  to  wear  with  it,  and  you  will  have 
to  lend  me  the  money  to  buy  it,  since  Will's  letter  is 
overdue." 

Morland  surprised  a  wistful  look  in  Mrs.  McCabe's 
eyes  as  she  answered  Kitty,  and  he  guessed  what  it  meant. 
The  invitations  were  out,  and  Kitty's  mother  knew  it,  and 
knew  that  Kitty  had  been  slighted  again. 

"Kitty,"  he  said  abruptly,  "I  hear  Janet  calling  you, 
where  is  she?" 

Kitty  was  as  fond  of  Janet  as  any  little  girl  would  have 
been  of  a  beautiful  doll.  She  ran  away  to  find  her  and  gave 
Morland  his  opportunity.  He  stopped  Mrs.  McCabe 
who,  thinking  there  might  be  something  the  matter,  had 
started  to  follow  Kitty. 

"No,  it 's  nothing,  I  'm  sure,"  he  said,  "and  I  wanted 
to  speak  to  you  a  moment  while  Kitty  is  out  of  the  room. 
She  shall  have  her  invitation  to  Arlington,  if  I  can  compass 
it.  I  am  going  to  see  Mrs.  Decatur,  but  in  the  meantime 
I  want  you  to  keep  Kitty  at  home.  I  don't  want  her  to 
meet  any  one  who  will  be  likely  to  ask  her  if  she  has 
received  an  invitation." 

Kitty  was  back,  carrying  the  laughing  and  radiant  Janet 
in  her  arms,  before  Mrs.  McCabe  had  time  to  reply,  and 
Morland  only  waited  to  take  Janet  from  her  mother  and 


222  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

toss  her  up  to  the  ceiling  —  quite  after  the  manner  of  Jeff's 
instructions  —  before  setting  off  on  his  errand  to  Kalorama. 

Mrs.  Decatur  listened  to  his  somewhat  embarrassed 
petition  for  Kitty  with  a  demure  little  smile  playing 
about  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"Why  do  you  suppose  Mrs.  Sutherland  is  not  invited  ?" 
she  asked  mercilessly,  when  Morland  waited  for  her  reply. 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  do,  Mrs.  Decatur,"  he  returned 
half  defiantly,  "  that  Mrs.  Sutherland  is  not  always  discreet, 
and  that  a  young  arid  beautiful  woman  is  often  the  victim 
of  her  own  charms.  But  you  do  not  know  as  well  as  I 
what  a  perfect  child  she  is;  as  guileless  as  one,  I  believe, 
and  looking  forward  to  this  party  with  all  the  happy, 
light-hearted  anticipations  of  a  child;  not  dreaming  for  a 
moment  that  she  will  not  be  invited.  And  I  cannot  bear  to 
have  her  disappointed  any  more  than  I  could  bear  to  see 
a  child  hurt." 

Mrs.  Decatur  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  Evidently 
this  man  had  no  idea  that  it  was  his  own  frequent  appear 
ances  in  public  with  Kitty  that  were  largely  responsible 
for  her  social  ostracism.  Well,  he  should  have  a  hint  of  it 
from  her.  She  herself  had  no  doubt  of  his  integrity,  and 
he  was  too  fine  a  man  to  let  him  go  on  blindly  in  a  course 
that  was  hurting  him  and  destroying  the  pretty  Mrs. 
Sutherland  socially. 

"Senator  Morland,"  she  said,  "I  will  do  my  best  to  get 
this  invitation  for  you,  and  I  think  I  may  succeed,  since 
Mrs.  Custis  is  my  very  good  friend;  but  I  want  you  to 
promise  me  that,  for  Mrs.  Sutherland's  sake,  you  will  not 
be  her  escort  to  the  party." 

Morland  was  a  Southerner,  and  not  very  quick  at  sus 
pecting  covert  meanings,  and  for  a  moment  he  stared 


JOHN  MORLAND  223 

blankly  at  Mrs.  Pecatur.  Then  his  eyes  dropped  and  the 
red  glowed  dully  through  the  bronze  of  his  cheek. 

"I  think  I  understand  you,  Mrs.  Decatur,"  he  said, 
rising  to  his  feet  with  a  little  of  the  stateliness  natural  to 
him  when  he  was  offended.  "  If  you  will  only  be  so  good  as 
to  secure  this  invitation  for  Mrs.  Sutherland  I  will  see  that 
she  has  a  proper  escort." 

It  was  a  new  aspect  in  which  to  view  himself  —  that  he 
could  be  responsible  for  any  of  this  gossip  that  had  been 
flying  about  Washington  so  greatly  to  Kitty's  detriment. 
But,  the  idea  having  been  once  suggested  to  him,  he  could 
readily  see  how  easily  his  anxious  protection  of  Kitty  could 
be  misinterpreted.  Well,  things  were  getting  more  and 
more  muddled.  Sutherland  would  have  to  come  home 
and  look  after  his  wife;  that  settled  it;  his  hands  were  tied 
now.  Of  course,  he  would  not  accompany  Kitty  to 
Arlington,  and  he  realized,  with  a  new  understanding  of 
himself,  that  this  was  a  keen  disappointment  to  him;  but 
since  he  could  not  be  her  escort  it  remained  for  him  to  see 
that  she  should  have  a  suitable  one  —  it  should  not  be 
Montclair.  To  insure  against  the  possibility  of  its  being 
Montclair  he  decided  that  he  must  at  once  make  an  engage 
ment  with  Kitty  himself,  and  then  go  to  work  to  find  some 
one  to  take  his  place  when,  at  the  last  moment,  he  should 
plead  business  as  an  excuse  for  not  going. 

Kitty  may  or  may  not  have  felt  disappointed  that  Mor- 
land  was  ahead  of  all  others  in  making  an  engagement  with 
her  for  the  Arlington  party,  but  she  accepted  him  as  a 
matter  of  course,  only  saying,  with  a  playfulness  that 
betrayed  she  had  no  fears  on  the  subject:  "I'm  not 
invited  yet."  Two  days  later  her  invitation  came,  and 
though  by  that  time  she  had  discovered  that  it  was  a 


224  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

little  delayed,  she  had  no  inkling  of  how  near  it  had 
been  to  not  coming  at  all. 

Morland  had  also  secured  his  substitute.  It  was  not 
possible  that  through  all  these  two  years  of  heated  recrim 
inations —  charges  of  "Bargain  and  Corruption"  by  the 
Jackson  party  and  indignant  denials  by  the  Clay  party  — 
that  the  friendly  relations  between  Clay  and  Morland 
should  remain  unstrained.  Yet  it  was  indicative  of  Clay's 
generous  temper,  recognized  alike  by  friend  and  foe,  that 
Morland  should  feel  but  little  hesitation  in  turning  to  him 
in  this  extremity. 

"You  see  how  it  is,"  he  said,  after  the  preliminary 
explanations.  "It  has  been  hinted  to  me  that  I  am  not  a 
proper  escort  for  Mrs.  Sutherland,  but  to  prevent  a  more 
undesirable  one,  or  at  least  so  I  consider  him,  than  even 
myself,  I  have  made  this  engagement  with  her,  intending 
at  the  last  moment  to  plead  a  press  of  business  as  excuse 
for  not  going.  But  I  don't  want  her  disappointed,  and  I 
thought,  perhaps,  out  of  your  old  friendship  for  her  mother, 
you  and  Mrs.  Clay  would  be  willing  to  take  her  and  look 
after  her  there." 

"Of  course  we  will,"  said  Clay  heartily,  "and  be  proud 
to  do  it.  I  'd  do  anything  for  Mrs.  McCabe,  but  I  'd  do 
a  good  deal,  also,  for  the  peerless  Kitty.  We  '11  take  her, 
and  we  '11  look  after  her  and  keep  her  straight,  if  that 's 
what  you  mean." 

That  was  exactly  what  Morland  meant,  though  he 
winced  a  little  at  the  term  as  applied  so  frankly  to  Kitty. 
Kitty  herself  when,  on  the  morning  of  the  party,  she  found 
that  Morland  was  not  going,  and  that  he  had  turned  her 
over  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clay,  was  inclined  for  a  moment  to 
be  rebellious.  Only  for  a  moment,  however.  She  liked 


JOHN  MORLAND  225 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clay,  and  since  the  point  was  to  be  suita 
bly  presented  at  the  party,  certainly  she  could  have  no 
more  distinguished  protector  than  the  charming  Secretary 
of  State,  unless  it  were  the  President  himself. 

Two  o'clock  saw  Kitty  at  the  landing  with  the  Clays 
and  the  rest  of  the  party,  ready  to  embark  in  a  veritable 
flotilla  of  small  boats  that  were  to  carry  them  over  to 
Arlington.  She  was  wearing  her  white  dimity  sprigged 
with  lavender,  and  her  new  bonnet,  with  nodding  bunches 
of  lilacs,  tied  under  her  chin  in  a  bewitching  bow  of  lilac 
ribbon,  and  her  narrow  skirts  were  short  enough  to  show 
the  prettiest  little  foot  in  Washington  in  low-cut  shoes  with 
high  heels  and  shining  buckles.  Little  she  cared  that  most 
of  the  women  of  the  party  looked  at  her  askance  —  the 
Lees  and  the  Calhouns  and  the  Ben  tons,  her  old  school 
mates,  just  barely  nodding  to  her.  She  was  surrounded 
by  a  mob  of  men,  and  the  waving  chestnut  curls,  the 
dancing  eyes,  the  saucy  curling  lashes,  the  rose-leaf  cheek, 
the  scarlet  curves  of  the  full  lips,  parted  to  let  the  ringing 
musical  laugh  peal  between  them,  were  enough  to  bewitch 
the  eyes  of  all  the  men  and  freeze  the  glances  of  all  the 
women. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Custis  met  them  at  the  landing  with  the 
old-time  gracious  hospitality  that  must  welcome  the  com 
ing  guest  at  the  outer  gates  of  their  domain,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  hundred  merry  visitors  were  climbing  the 
bluff  to  the  plateau  on  which  the  house  stood  or  scat 
tered  over  the  grassy  slopes  of  beautiful  Arlington.  A 
pavilion  had  been  erected  for  dancing  under  the  trees,  and 
on  the  very  edge  of  the  bluff,  shaded  by  great  maples  and 
lindens,  stood  the  long  tables  ready  set  for  the  five  o'clock 
dinner.  Hidden  in  a  clump  of  locust  bushes  an  orchestra 


226  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

filled  the  air  with  strains  of  music  that  came  from  no  one 
knew  where,  and  floated  clown  the  shady  alleys  and  over 
the  velvety  lawns  and  through  the  corridors  and  galleries 
and  drawing-rooms  of  the  great  house,  filling  every  leafy 
nook  and  cosy  corner  with  the  gala  spirit  of  mirth  and 
jollity,  and  setting  feet  to  tripping  and  tongues  to  wagging. 

But  the  younger  set  had  caught  sight  of  the  pavilion  and 
were  eager  for  the  dance,  and  by  three  o'clock  the  orchestra 
had  left  its  locust  covert  and  taken  its  place  on  a  little 
platform  in  the  pavilion  arranged  for  it,  and  its  merry 
strains  of  welcome  had  given  place  to  the  still  livelier 
music  of  the  dance.  Kitty  was  as  much  of  a  belle  as  in 
the  days  of  her  girlhood;  her  fame  as  a  dancer  was 
partly  responsible  —  her  crowning  by  Mrs.  Madison  at 
Brown's  Hotel  in  Georgetown  was  not  forgotten  —  but 
partly,  also,  it  was  her  beauty  and  a  certain  sparkling 
Irish  love  of  fun  and  audacity  that  drew  the  young  men 
around  her  in  crowds.  Naturally  Montclair  was  one  of  the 
most  eager,  but  Kitty,  frbm  that  same  odd  little  sense  of 
loyalty  to  Morland,  kept  putting  him  off.  Had  Morland 
been  present  she  would  have  danced  with  Montclair 
willingly,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  to  annoy  Morland 
and  defy  his  espionage. 

Dancing  the  minuet  was  already  beginning  to  be  a  lost 
art.  The  new  lancers,  a  square  dance  as  it  was  called, 
had  come  into  favour  with  a  rush,  and  together  with  the 
whirling  waltz  had  almost  driven  out  the  stately  dance  of 
our  great-grandmothers.  But  it  was  still  necessary  to  have 
at  least  one  minuet  at  every  party  if  dancers  could  be 
found  who  knew  the  steps,  and  there  were  no  two  people 
who  could  dance  it  so  perfectly  as  Kitty  and  Montclair. 
Kitty's  laurels  at  Brown's  Hotel  had  been  won  in  the 


JOHN  MORLAND  227 

minuet,  and  Montclair  was  exactly  the  figure  and  had  all 
the  necessary  airs  and  graces  to  adorn  that  dance.  He 
easily  persuaded  Kitty  that  for  the  minuet,  at  least,  no 
other  partner  would  be  so  desirable  or  appropriate,  and 
she  had  danced  with  so  many  others  his  dancing  with  her 
would  hardly  add  any  food  for  gossip. 

They  found  themselves  facing  young  Robert  Lee  and 
Nellie  Custis,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  house.  Young 
Lee  was  home  from  West  Point  on  leave  of  absence,  and 
had  ridden  all  the  way  over  from  his  father's  plantation  in 
Westmoreland  to  attend  this  party.  He  was  only  twenty, 
but  even  at  that  age  he  was  tall  and  splendidly  propor 
tioned,  with  dark  eyes  that  could  flash  and  soften  adorably. 
He  wyas  as  beautiful  as  a  picture  and  many  a  pretty  girl 
would  have  liked  to  win  the  attentions  of  "Light-Horse 
Harry"  Lee's  handsome  son,  but  he  had  eyes  for  Nellie 
Custis  only. 

It  had  amused  Kitty  to  see  the  manoeuvres  of  the  girls 
in  trying  to  attract  the  young  Robert's  attention,  and 
now,  finding  herself  opposite  him  in  the  minuet,  she 
decided  to  try  her  own  powers.  She  was  nearly  three  years 
older  than  he,  but  she  was  still  a  girl  at  heart,  and  to 
succeed  where  others  failed  was  always  a  keen  delight  to 
Kitty.  She  smiled  on  him  bewitchingly  at  every  turn  in 
the  dance,  and  the  boy,  who  had  a  quick  eye  for  beauty 
in  a  woman  and  who  had  never  before  seen  anything  quite 
so  radiantly  beautiful  as  Kitty,  could  not  but  be  flattered 
by  her  smiles.  He  returned  them  and  very  soon  found  him 
self  eagerly  looking  for  them  and,  as  the  dance  gave  him 
opportunity,  adding  little  gallant  speeches  to  his  smiles. 

Kitty  was  pleased  with  her  small  triumph,  but  Nellie 
Custis  was  not,  and  very  soon  began  to  make  it  evident 


228  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

that  she  was  not  to  any  one  who  cared  to  see.  Young  Lee 
did  not  at  first  seem  to  notice  her  displeasure,  and  kept  on 
with  his  little  gallantries  to  Kitty,  and  Kitty  herself  was 
rather  pleased  than  otherwise  at  the  effect  she  had  pro 
duced.  But  it  was  really  sport  quite  unworthy  of  Kitty, 
for  she  soon  realized  that  they  were  only  boy  and  girl, 
and  openly  infatuated  with  each  other.  When  young  Lee 
awoke  to  an  appreciation  of  his  partner's  displeasure,  and 
tried  to  make  amends  by  every  means  in  his  power  only  to 
be  openly  disdained,  he  began  to  look  greatly  troubled 
and  Kitty  relented.  She  was  gravity  itself  as  she  passed 
him  in  the  dance,  and  she  seized  an  opportunity  of  making 
a  frank  apology  to  Nellie  Custis. 

"Forgive  me,  Miss  Custis,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  of 
such  apparent  deference  and  contrition  as  no  young  girl 
could  withstand.  "  I  have  been  very  rude  in  trying  to  engage 
Mr.  Lee's  attention  when  he  had  eyes  and  ears  for  no  one 
but  you.  He  is  so  very  handsome,  you  know,  it  is  hard  to 
resist  a  desire  to  make  his  beaux  yeux  smile  on  one ;  but 
he  has  easily  given  me  to  understand  his  smiles  are  for  one 
only,  certainly  not  for  a  woman  old  enough  to  be  his 
mother"  —  a  wildly  imaginative  figure  of  speech,  but  it 
had  the  intended  effect  on  the  youthful  Nellie  —  "and  I 
am  properly  punished." 

The  sixteen-year-old  girl  readily  forgave  the  woman  of 
nearly  twenty-three  ("old  enough  to  be  the  mother"  of  a 
boy  of  twenty),  and  in  forgiving  her  forgave  her  lover. 
Kitty's  smiles  were  all  for  Nellie,  as  were  the  young  Lee's, 
and  in  after  years  Mrs.  Robert  E.  Lee  could  never  be  made 
to  believe  the  scandalous  tales  the  gossips  loved  to  tell  of 
Kitty,  and  which,  at  the  Arlington  party,  she  had  been  too 
young  to  have  heard. 


JOHN  MORLAND  229 

Montclair  drew  Kitty  away  as  the  dance  ended. 

"Come  Kitty,"  he  said,  "I  have  something  to  show 
you." 

Kitty  was  nothing  loath,  and  when  the  "something" 
proved  to  be  a  clump  of  locust  bushes  in  a  grove  of  locust 
trees  on  the  very  brink  of  the  bluff,  overlooking  Washing 
ton  and  open  to  the  western  breezes,  Kitty  threw  herself 
down  with  a  sigh  of  rapture  on  one  of  the  lichen-covered 
rocks  that  offered  themselves  as  seats  in  this  green  covert. 

"Why,  it  is  the  most  beautiful  spot  in  the  world,"  she 
exclaimed,  "fit  to  be  a  fairy  bower.  How  did  you  find  it, 
Harold?" 

"It  's  fit  to  be  a  bower  for  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  world,"  returned  Montclair  impressively,  throwing 
himself  at  her  feet  on  the  soft  turf.  "I  hunted  it  up  for 
you.  I  was  sure  there  must  be  something  like  this  some 
where  about  if  I  could  only  find  it,  and  when  you  would  n't 
dance  that  waltz  with  me  I  spent  the  dance  looking  for 
it  and  found  it." 

"Thereby  heaping  coals  of  fire  on  my  head,"  said  Kitty, 
laughing.  She  did  not  entirely  like  the  way  Montclair 
looked  at  her,  and  began  to  wish  this  sylvan  retreat  were 
not  quite  so  secluded. 

"You  are  looking  more  beautiful  than  I  ever  saw  you, 
Kitty,"  said  Montclair  ardently,  or  with  assumed  ardour, 
"and  it 's  cruel  of  you.  You  long  ago  reduced  my  heart 
to  ashes,  and  now  you  set  the  ashes  to  blazing." 

Kitty  did  not  mind  compliments  of  that  order,  she  was 
used  to  them,  and  she  dimpled  prettily  and  appropriately 
as  she  replied : 

"I  always  said  it  was  ashes,  you  know,  but  you  would 
insist  it  was  a  heart." 


230  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"  Heart  or  ashes,  it 's  blazing  now,  when  I  think  of  how 
that  man  treats  you,"  he  said  with  heat.  "It 's  worse  and 
worse,  Kitty." 

Kitty  was  silent.  She  had  descended  to  listening  to 
Montclair's  insinuations  about  her  husband,  but  she  had 
not  quite  descended  to  talking  him  over  with  him.  Mont- 
clair  sighed. 

"  Kitty,  if  ever  there  was  a  woman  in  the  world  born 
for  happiness  and  love,  it 's  you,  and  to  think  you 
should  have  to  be  tied  to  a  man  like  that,  when 
there  's  one,  at  least,  dying  to  give  you  everything  the 
world  can  offer." 

Kitty  had  begun  to  think  herself  ill-used,  too,  and  she 
gave  herself  a  little  impatient  shake. 

"Oh,  don't  let 's  talk  about  it,  Harold,  or  think  about  it; 
it  can't  be  helped." 

"I  can't  help  thinking  about  it,  Kitty.  If  they  'd  only 
let  us  alone  that  night,  just  seven  years  ago  to-day,  how 
different  it  would  all  have  been!  You  belonged  to  me 
before  you  did  to  him." 

It  had  been  nearly  three  months  now  since  Kitty  had 
heard  a  word  from  Sutherland,  and  her  heart  was  very 
bitter  toward  him.  For  a  moment  she  wrished  with  all 
her  soul  that  it  had  been  Montclair  instead,  and  with 
drooping  lids  and  mounting  colour,  she  said  softly: 

"  I  believe  I  did  belong  to  you  first,  Harold." 

It  was  more  than  enough  encouragement  for  Montclair. 
He  seized  her  hand  and  covered  it  with  burning  kisses, 
while  Kitty,  half  pleased,  half  frightened,  struggled  to 
draw  it  away.  But,  of  course,  he  was  not  going  to  let  it  go 
easily  until  Kitty,  really  angry,  drew  herself  up. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  coldly,  "I  will  go  back  and  find 


JOHN  MORLAND  231 

Mr.  Clay.  I  thought  I  could  trust  myself  here  with  you, 
but  it  seems  I  cannot." 

Montclair  did  not  like  her  tone.  Also,  he  had  seen  a 
boat  put  out  from  the  Washington  landing  with  a  single 
passenger,  and  it  was  rapidly  nearing  Arlington.  That 
passenger  looked  to  him  like  Morland,  and  he  was  not  sure 
but  he  and  Kitty  could  be  distinguished  in  their  eyrie  as 
easily  as  Morland  in  his  boat. 

"If  I  must,"  he  said,  relinquishing  her  hand  slowly. 
"Only  stay  with  me  Kitty,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  I  want 
you  to  do.  It  will  be  nearly  full  moon  to-night,  and  I  want 
you  to  go  boating  with  me  on  Rock  Creek.  We  will  float 
down  into  the  Potomac,  and  think  how  beautiful  the  river 
will  be  by  moonlight!" 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Kitty,  quickly.  "I  could  n't  possibly." 
She  had  never  yet  done  anything  quite  so  bold  as  that,  and 
the  thought  of  it  frightened  her. 

"But  why  not,  Kitty?"  insisted  Montclair. 

"  Oh,  think  how  late  it  will  be  by  the  time  we  get  home! 
We  are  not  to  leave  here  until  seven;  it  will  be  eight  at 
least  before  we  reach  the  house." 

"And  if  I  call  for  you  at  half  past  eight  we  could  spend 
an  hour  on  the  river  and  you  would  be  home  by  ten. 
Kitty  —  I  call  my  fast  horse  Kitty,  you  know  —  would 
easily  take  us  to  the  creek  in  fifteen  minutes." 

But  Kitty  shook  her  head.  "  What  would  they  think  ?" 
she  demurred. 

"Who  think?"  demanded  Montclair  curtly. 

"Why  —  mother — and — father — and — Senator  Mor 
land." 

"Kitty!  are  you  a  married  woman  or  are  you  a  baby? 
What  has  Morland  got  to  do  with  it  ?  You  are  responsible 


232  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

to  no  one  but  your  husband,  and  he  does  n't  care  a  picayune 
what  you  do.  He  goes  off  and  has  good  times  with  other 
women.  There  's  no  reason  in  the  world  why  you  should 
not  have  a  little  pleasure.  Do,  for  once,  assert  yourself, 
Kitty." 

Kitty  was  wavering. 

"I  Ve  no  doubt  I  get  the  credit  of  doing  such  things," 
she  said,  a  little  bitterly,  "and  I  suppose  I  might  as  well 
have  the  fun." 

"Of  course,"  assented  Montclair,  too  eager  to  be  cour 
teous,  "  and  it  will  be  such  fun !  It 's  going  to  be  a  glorious 
night,  and  everybody  will  be  at  the  President's  levee,  and 
we  '11  have  the  river  to  ourselves.  Come,  Kitty,  do." 

"Well,  I  will,"  said  Kitty,  with  sudden  determination, 
looking  down  on  the  beautiful  river  —  where  there  was  no 
longer  a  boat  visible  with  its  single  passenger  —  and  think 
ing  how  glorious  it  would  be  in  the  moonlight  and  how  she 
really  longed  for  a  moonlight  row,  and  what  fun  it  would 
be  imagining  herself  a  girl  again. 

"Kitty!"  breathed  Montclair  rapturously,  too  overcome 
by  the  good  fortune  he  had  hardly  dared  hope  for  to  utter 
another  word.  But  he  seized  her  hands  again  and  kissed 
them  fervently,  and  this  time  Kitty  did  not  resist  so 
strenuously. 

"Mrs.  Sutherland,  Mr.  Clay  is  looking  for  you  to  go  to 
dinner.  May  I  take  you  to  him?" 

Montclair  dropped  Kitty's  hands  and  sprang  to  his  feet 
with  a  muttered  execration,  and  Kitty  rose  slowly  to  hers. 

"If  you  please,"  said  Kitty,  looking  up  at  Morland 
defiantly.  He  was  standing  at  the  entrance  of  the  locust 
bower  very  straight  and  tall  and  looking  very  stern,  but 
also,  Kitty  confessed  to  herself,  very  handsome.  He 


JOHN  MORLAND  233 

bowed  his  acknowledgment  and  offered  Kitty  his  arm. 
She  took  it  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  and  turned  to  walk 
away. 

Montclair  had  had  time  to  recover  himself. 

"  Au  revoir,  Mrs.  Sutherland,"  he  said,  significantly. 

Kitty  hesitated  a  moment.  Should  she  say  "Au  revoir," 
or  should  she  think  better  of  it  ?  Involuntarily  she  glanced 
up  at  Morland.  He  was  frowning,  impatient  of  her  delay. 
She  turned  to  Montclair  with  great  deliberation  and,  con 
scious  that  Morland  was  looking  at  her  and  listening  to 
her,  said  in  her  sweetest  tones,  with  a  radiant  smile: 
"  Au  revoir,  Mr.  Montclair." 


CHAPTER  XI 

JANET'S  PRAYER 

MORLAND  sat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  from 
Kitty,  who  had  Mr.  Clay  on  one  side  of  her  and 
young  Robert  Lee  on  the  other.  He  was  studiously  atten 
tive  to  the  charming  young  lady  who  sat  beside  him,  and 
the  charming  young  lady  began  to  believe  that  at  last  she 
had  made  an  impression  on  the  most  difficult  and  most 
eligible  bachelor  in  Washington. 

There  were  moments,  however,  when  he  found  it  possible 
to  withdraw  himself  from  the  fascinations  of  the  charming 
young  lady  long  enough  to  glance  across  the  table  at  Kitty, 
and  he  always  found  her  at  such  moments  overflowing 
with  good  humour  and  high  spirits,  keeping  both  Clay 
and  young  Lee  fully  engaged  in  meeting  her  quick  sallies 
or  swift  retorts,  and  keeping  also  her  section  of  the  long 
table  in  shouts  of  responsive  laughter.  It  grated  on 
Morland's  unsympathetic  mood.  He  had  never  before 
found  anything  in  Kitty  to  criticize  as  coarse  or  "loud;" 
he  had  always  found  her  charming,  even  when  he  least 
approved  of  her;  but  now  her  voice  seemed  to  him  too 
high-pitched,  her  manner  too  nervous  and  excitable,  and 
her  ringing  laugh  entirely  too  noisy  and  too  frequent  for 
good  taste. 

Besides  these  fleeting  moments  devoted  to  Kitty  he  had 
also  found  one  long  minute,  when  the  charming  young 
lady  was  absorbed  in  her  canvas-back  duck,  to  look  off 

234 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    235 

over  the  river  toward  Washington  where  the  Capitol  on  its 
hill  gleamed  white  in  the  east,  and  then  toward  the  west 
where  the  Potomac  was  coming  down,  a  silver  flood, 
between  the  foothills  of  the  Blue  Ridge  already  purpling 
in  the  evening  light.  The  low  clouds  in  the  west  were 
beginning  to  flush  a  pale  rose  in  the  rays  of  the  rapidly 
sinking  sun,  and  in  the  east,  just  above  the  Capitol  dome, 
hung  the  pale  silver  orb  of  the  nearly  full  moon.  Across 
the  lawns  of  Arlington  the  long  shadows  of  late  afternoon 
were  stretching;  robins  and  meadow-larks  were  chirping 
and  caroling  their  evening  songs,  and  from  a  grove  behind 
the  house  came  at  regular  intervals  the  exquisite  note  of 
a  hermit  thrush.  Great  bowls  of  lilacs  and  apple  blossoms 
from  the  shrubberies  and  orchards  of  Arlington  decorated 
the  long  tables,  and  Morland,  whose  eye  and  nostril  and 
ear  were  exquisitely  attuned  to  all  these  sweet  spring 
influences,  began  to  feel  more  at  peace  with  himself  and 
consequently  with  Kitty. 

Since  finding  her  in  the  locust  bower  with  Montclair  he 
had  been  in  despair  about  her.  He  had  promised  himself, 
when  he  plead  press  of  business  as  an  excuse  for  not  keep 
ing  his  engagement  with  Kitty,  that  he  would  go  over  to 
Arlington  late,  just  in  time  for  dinner;  it  could  give  rise 
to  no  fresh  gossip  if  he  did  not  appear  as  Kitty's  attendant 
and,  as  he  determined,  showed  her  no  special  attention 
while  there.  Coming  over  alone  in  his  boat  he  had  seen 
the  two  figures  high  in  their  green  bower  on  the  bluff,  and 
although  at  that  distance  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish 
them,  he  had  guessed  who  it  was  likely  to  be,  and  a  hasty 
search  for  Montclair  and  Kitty  on  his  arrival  had  revealed 
their  absence  and  confirmed  his  fears. 

During  that  long  dinner — a  real   Virginia  feast  with 


236  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

every  delicacy,  in  season  and  out,  smoking  on  the  boards: 
Canvas-back  duck  and  terrapin,  oysters  and  soft-shell 
crabs,  spring  chicken  and  spicy  hams,  hot  Maryland  bis 
cuit  and  all  the  accompaniments  of  quivering  jellies  and 
toothsome  conserves,  delicate  syllabubs  and  rich  and 
wonderful  cakes,  with  fragrant  coffee  and  fine  old  Virginia 
home-made  wines  —  through  it  all  Morland  had  been  con 
scious  of  an  undercurrent  of  thought  that  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  skilful  parrying  he  found  neces 
sary  of  his  neighbour's  veiled  and  open  attacks.  She  was 
making  a  "dead  set"  for  him,  and  he  must  appear  to  enjoy 
the  process,  while  skilfully  evading  her  snares.  The 
undercurrent  was  what  really  absorbed  him.  Was  there 
no  hope  for  Kitty  ?  Was  she  determined  on  her  own  ruin 
—  social  ruin,  at  least  ?  Was  it  his  business  any  longer  ? 
Could  he  not  consider  that  he  had  more  than  discharged 
his  promise  to  Sutherland  ?  Perhaps  he  had  been  mis 
taken  in  Kitty;  perhaps  there  was  in  her  no  substratum 
of  good  sense  and  right  feeling,  whose  existence  he  had 
always  claimed,  and  on  which,  as  a  foundation,  he  had 
pertinaciously  hoped  to  see  the  fine  and  noble  character 
erected  that  he  believed  was  possible  to  Kitty.  This  last 
was  too  much!  That  she  should  seize  the  opportunity  that 
his  absence  gave  her,  and  then,  when  detected  in  wrong 
doing,  should  openly  defy  him,  was  more  than  he  felt 
himself  called  upon  to  submit  to.  He  would  give  her  up ! 
He  was  going  away  to  Tennessee  in  a  few  days,  and  he 
would  leave  her  to  her  fate  and  worry  no  more  about  her. 

But  the  nesting  song  of  the  birds,  the  delicious  fragrance 
of  lilacs  and  apple  blossoms,  the  soft  evening  air  and  the 
lovely  picture  of  the  silver  flood  rolling  down  between 
purple  hills  under  rose-coloured  skies,  had  their  due  effect; 


JOHN  MORLAND  237 

he  could  no  longer  quite  despair  of  Kitty;  he  would  give 
her  another  trial. 

He  left  it  to  the  Clays  to  see  her  home,  but  he  was  in 
Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour  waiting  for  her  when  she  arrived. 
He  was  not  ostensibly  waiting  for  her.  It  was  Janet's 
bedtime,  and  it  had  come  to  be  a  custom  of  Morland's  to 
drop  in  at  this  hour  to  say  good-night  to  her.  In  all  these 
months  Janet  and  Morland  had  grown  to  be  great  friends. 
He  had  come  back  in  the  fall  to  find  her  an  enchanting 
three-year-old,  beautiful  as  a  Greuze  cherub  and  bubbling 
over  with  baby  prattle.  The  two  had  straightway  fallen 
desperately  in  love  with  each  other,  and  it  was  due  to 
Janet  that  Morland  had  come  to  find  his  way  so  frequently 
to  Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour.  Once  there,  Janet  was 
immediately  enthroned  upon  his  knee;  her  imperious 
"Up,  up!"  was  not  to  be  resisted.  Together  the  two 
held  long  discourses  on  every  topic  in  the  wide  range  of  a 
baby's  philosophy,  from  the  reason  why  God  made  little 
girls  nicer  than  little  boys  (a  theorem  stated  by  Morland) 
to  the  ineffable  virtues  of  a  headless  and  armless  doll, 
the  dearest  of  Janet's  large  family  of  children. 

Kitty  was  not  a  bad  mother,  as  young  mothers  go.  She 
was  passionately  fond  of  her  beautiful  baby  and  inordi 
nately  vain  of  her,  but  she  gladly  left  her  training  to 
the  baby's  grandmother.  Most  children  have  a  natural 
instinct  for  religion,  but  Mrs.  McCabe  had  cultivated 
Janet's  by  telling  her  Bible  stories  and  teaching  her  little 
prayers,  until  to  the  baby  there  was  nothing  more  real  on 
earth  than  God  and  the  angels. 

Morland  would  not  miss  her  evening  prayers  if  he  could 
help  it,  for  after  the  "Now  I  lay  me"  had  been  duly 
lisped,  Janet  started  off  on  a  long  rambling  prayer  of  her 


238  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

own,  neglecting  no  human  being  of  her  acquaintance,  and 
interspersing  her  petitions  with  numerous  confidential 
asides  to  God  himself,  or  sometimes  to  Morland  or  her 
grandmother  about  God.  She  was  waiting  now  for 
mamma  to  come  home  to  kiss  her  good-night  and  listen  to 
her  prayers,  for  Janet  adored  her  beautiful  young  mother, 
and  would  have  gone  to  bed  sorrowful  without  that  good 
night  kiss.  It  was  growing  a  late  bedtime,  and  Emmeline 
had  come  in  to  take  her  upstairs,  but  Mrs.  McCabe  would 
not  send  her  away  until  her  mother  came.  In  the  mean 
time  Janet  was  very  happy  on  Morland's  knee  listening  to 
tales  of  the  party,  and  asking  a  thousand  questions. 
"And  was  my  mamma  there  too?"  "And  did  she  wear  a 
pwetty  dress  ?  "  "  And  was  my  mamma  very,  very  boosul  ?  " 
"And  was  my  papa  there  too?"  "Why  was  n't  my  papa 
there?"  "Will  the  big  ship  bring  him  home  some 
day?"  " Does  my  mamma  love  my  papa ?"  "Does  she 
love  him  better  than  she  does  you?" 

Morland  had  answered  every  question  with  the  gravity 
they  deserved,  but  he  answered  this  last  a  little  impatiently. 
"Oh,  yes,  of  course."  "Why?"  persisted  Janet  gravely. 
"Wrhy,  because  he  's  your  papa,"  said  Morland,  wonder 
ing  a  little  what  Janet 's  line  of  reasoning  could  be. 

"Do  I  love  my  papa  better  'n  I  do  you?"  But  she  did 
not  wait  for  Morland  to  answer  this;  she  answered  it  her 
self.  "Oh,  yes,  'course  I  do,  'cause  he  's  my  papa." 

Kitty,  who  had  just  come  in,  had  stopped  on  the  thres 
hold  and  heard  these  last  questions.  She  entered  the 
room  now  with  heightened  colour  and,  without  noticing 
Morland,  spoke  to  Janet  a  little  sharply.  "Come,  Janet, 
it 's  time  you  were  in  bed." 

Neither  Janet  nor  Morland  had  seen  her  until  she  spoke, 


JOHN  MORLAND  239 

since  Morland's  back  was  to  the  door.  At  the  sound  of 
her  voice  Janet  sprang  to  her  mother's  arms  with  a  cry  of 
delight.  "  Mamma  's  home!  Mamma  's  home!  Will  you 
tell  me  a  story,  mamma?" 

"Not  to-night,  Janet;  mother  's  going  right  out 
again,"  said  Kitty,  but  without  the  sharpness  of  her 
first  speech. 

"Going  out!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  McCabe  in  surprise, 
"Where  are  you  going,  Kitty?" 

Kitty  knew  very  well  how  thoroughly  both  her  mother 
and  Morland  would  disapprove.  She  was  always  tender 
of  her  mother.  She  could  not  bear  to  hurt  her  or  to  have 
her  disapprove  of  her,  and  but  for  Morland's  presence  she 
might  have  relented  and  given  up  a  plan  that  she  knew 
would  hurt  her  a  little  more  keenly  than  anything  she  had 
yet  done.  But  her  first  thought  on  seeing  Morland  was 
that  he  was  there  on  purpose  to  try  to  prevent  her  going 
with  Montclair,  and  she  would  prove  to  him  that  she  was 
her  own  mistress.  Of  course,  Morland  was  there  for  no 
such  purpose,  for  he  had  had  no  hint  of  Montclair's 
invitation  until  this  moment,  when  he  instantly  suspected 
it  was  with  Montclair  she  was  going  out.  Kitty  looked  at 
Morland  instead  of  her  mother,  as  she  replied  and  mea 
sured  each  word  with  cold  precision : 

"I  am  going  out  for  a  moonlight  row  with  Mr.  Mont 
clair  on  Rock  Creek;  he  will  call  for  me  in  a  few 
minutes." 

Morland  felt  himself  turn  cold  under  Kitty's  steady  look 
of  defiance.  This  was  going  a  step  farther  than  Kitty 
had  yet  gone.  And  he  distrusted  Montclair  so  thoroughly ! 
He  did  not  reply;  the  words  were  not  addressed  to  him,  but 
he  returned  her  look  with  one  of  strong  remonstrance  and 


240  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

displeasure,  and  Kitty  quailed  a  little.  It  was  her  mother 
who  spoke,  but  all  she  said  was: 

"Oh,  Kitty!  don't  go!" 

"Why  not?"  said  Kitty,  still  coldly. 

"Oh,  you  know  why  not,"  returned  her  mother  in 
agonized  entreaty.  "Major  Morland,  beg  her  not  to  go." 

It  was  a  terrible  mistake  to  appeal  to  him,  and  Mor 
land  knew  it.  He  would  do  his  best  to  retrieve  Mrs. 
McCabe's  error. 

"Mrs.  Sutherland  must  decide  for  herself  in  such 
matters,"  he  said  coldly.  "She  knows  the  wishes  of  her 
friends,  I  think." 

Kitty  turned  on  him  passionately: 

"Yes,  I  know  every  one  tries  to  control  me  as  if  I  were 
a  child,  and  to  say  what  I  must  do  and  must  not  do.  I 
am  tired  of  it!  Hereafter  I  shall  please  myself;  and  it 
pleases  me  on  this  beautiful  moonlight  night  to  go  for  a 
little  row  on  the  river  with  my  friend,  Mr.  Montclair." 

And,  then  turning  to  Janet,  who  had  been  clinging  to  her 
hand  through  this  brief  altercation,  looking  with  wide  eyes 
of  wonder  and  fear  and  sorrow  from  one  to  the  other  of 
the  three  people  she  loved  best: 

"Come,  Janet,"  she  said,  "we  must  go  upstairs;  it  is 
time  you  were  in  bed." 

But,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Janet  was  afraid  of  this 
beautiful  mamma.  She  had  never  before  seen  her  eyes 
flash  like  that,  and  she  had  never  heard  that  strange,  sharp 
ring  in  her  voice.  She  let  go  of  her  mother's  hand  and  ran 
to  her  grandmother. 

"Oh,  gwandma,  I  want  to  say  my  prayers!"  she  cried, 
with  quivering  lip. 

Kitty  had  felt  that  Janet  fled  from  her  to  a  refuge  with 


JOHN  MORLAND  241 

her  mother  and  she  had  seen  the  quivering  lip.  Both 
had  cut  her  to  the  heart.  Mrs.  McCabe  looked  up  at  Kitty 
questioningly;  she  did  not  want  to  seem  to  come  between 
mother  and  child.  Kitty  was  not  going  to  show  that  she 
was  moved;  with  a  slight  nod  to  her  mother  she  spoke  to 
Janet  coldly: 

"Very  well,  Janet,  I  will  wait." 

Down  sank  Janet  at  her  grandmother's  knee,  her  little 
white  dress  and  golden  curls  and  folded  hands  and  eyes 
tight-closed,  looking  like  an  angel  to  Kitty,  who  was  begin 
ning  to  feel  the  stings  of  remorse.  Janet's  little  heart  was 
full,  and  she  said  her  "Now  I  lay  me"  after  her  grand 
mother  with  trembling  lips,  but  as  she  went  on  to  her  own 
unaided  prayers  she  forgot  her  grief  in  the  earnestness  of 
her  petitions: 

"Dear  God,"  she  said,  "Bwess  my  boosul  mamma,  and 
don't  ever,  ever  let  her  be  naughty,  and  don't  let  her  scold 
gwandma  and  Uncle  Morland.  And,  pease,  dear  God, 
bwing  my  papa  home.  I  want  to  see  my  papa,  God,  'cause 
he  loves  me  and  loves  mamma,  and  'cause  mamma  loves 
him  better  'n  anybody.  And  pease  God  make  my 
mamma  happy,  and  never,  never,  never  let  her  cry.  And 
make  me  good,  so  my  mamma  '11  love  me  some  more. 
Amen,  for  Christ's  sake." 

She  started  to  get  up,  but  shut  her  eyes  again  and  folded 
her  hands.  "Oh,  yes,  God,  I  sordot"  (Janet's  fs  were 
always  s's).  "Bwess  Em'line,  and  Uncle  Morland  and 
Gwanpa  and  Gwandma  and  my  dear,  dear  boosul  mamma, 
and  don't  her  let  be  naughty.  And  make  me  dweam  'bout 
the  angels  and  the  sairies,  and  pease  bwing  my  papa  home 
in  a  big,  big  boat.  Amen." 

She  was  quite  happy  by  the  time  she  had  finished  her 


242    THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

prayer,  and  kissed  her  grandmother  radiantly,  who  hid  her 
face  when  she  returned  her  kiss  that  Janet  might  not  see 
her  tears;  and  then  she  turned  to  "Uncle  Morland, "  who 
hugged  her  so  tight,  he  almost  took  her  breath;  and  then 
she  ran  to  her  mother. 

Through  Janet's  prayer  Kitty  had  stood  at  first  with 
bowed  head.  Janet's  trembling  tones  and  her  own 
remorse  were  almost  too  much  for  her.  But  as  the  child 
went  on  to  pray  for  her  "boosul  mamma"  and  her  absent 
father,  Kitty  summoned  all  her  powers  of  resistance  and 
hardened  her  heart.  She  was  not  going  to  let  her  mother 
and  Major  Morland  think  that  she  could  be  so  easily 
moved  from  her  determination.  She  had  an  unreasoning 
feeling  that  Major  Morland  had  set  the  child  on  to  persuade 
her  from  her  course.  And  so,  though  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes,  angry  tears,  Kitty  would  have  called  them,  she 
flung  back  her  head  defiantly  as  Janet  rose  from  her  knees, 
snatched  her  impatiently  from  Morland 's  arms,  and  spoke 
sharply : 

"Come,  Janet!  I  can't  wait  here  all  night!  Mr.  Mont- 
clair  will  be  here  before  I  am  ready  for  him!" 


CHAPTER  XII 

MORLAND  BUYS  A  HORSE 

AT  THE  very  hour  when  Janet  was  praying  in  the  little 
parlour  of  McCabe's  Tavern,  "  Bring  my  papa  home 
in  a  big  boat,"  a  great  ship  was  entering  New  York  har 
bour  bearing  to  Kitty  awful  tidings  of  the  father  for  whom 
Janet  had  prayed. 

He  would  never  come  home  to  Janet  or  to  Janet's 
mother.  In  a  fit  of  depression  after  a  week  of  harder 
drinking  even  than  usual,  despairing  of  ever  breaking  loose 
from  the  chains  that  were  daily  binding  him  closer,  he  sat 
down  in  his  cabin  on  the  Argus,  wrote  a  note  to  Kitty,  and 
blew  out  his  brains. 

His  note  lay  open  on  the  table  before  which  he 
sat  for  all  men  to  read,  and  in  after  years  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  that  had  been  his  intention  —  that  for 
Kitty's  sake  no  man  might  mistake  the  motive  for  his  self 
destruction. 

The  note  read:  "Dear  Kitty:  It  is  no  use.  I  am  a 
slave,  bound  hand  and  foot.  I  can  never  make  you  happy. 
I  will  not  live  to  keep  you  tied  to  such  a  hopeless  wreck. 
I  cannot  prove  my  love  to  you  by  stopping  drinking.  I  will 
prove  it  by  setting  you  free.  Think  of  me  sometimes, 
Kitty,  and  try  to  remember  all  the  good  things  about  me, 
if  there  ever  were  any  to  remember.  But  remember 
always  that  I  loved  you  dearly,  dearly.  Kiss  our  baby  and 
don't  let  her  quite  forget  her  father,  nor  ever  know,  if  you 

243 


244  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

can  help  it,  how  he  came  to  his  end.     Good-bye,  Kitty. 
Good-bye,  my  wife.     May  God  forgive  me." 

The  river  had  flowed  on  swiftly  and  relentlessly,  bearing 
with  it,  as  Sutherland  in  his  gloomy  prescience  had  fore- 
felt,  his  frail,  unruddered  craft  down  to  the  great  and 
shoreless  sea. 

The  note  reached  Washington  on  the  very  day  Morland 
was  to  set  out  for  Tennessee.  He  could  not  leave  Kitty  in 
such  distress,  and  he  stayed  on  day  after  day  until  the  days 
had  run  into  weeks,  trying  in  every  unobtrusive  way  to  help 
her  bear  this  terrible  sorrow,  and  working  over  the  papers 
and  effects  that  had  come  from  the  Argus  with  Sutherland's 
note,  in  an  effort  to  straighten  them  out,  if  possible,  and 
be  able  to  give  Kitty  a  clear  account  of  how  her  husband's 
affairs  stood. 

There  was  not  much  left  for  her  when  everything  was 
settled,  but  Kitty  either  did  not  care  or  did  not  realize  how 
unprovided  for  the  future  she  and  little  Janet  were.  She 
was  stunned,  at  first,  by  the  awful  nature  of  the  blow,  and 
when  she  could  begin  to  realize  it  there  was  no  room  for 
anything  but  heart-breaking  sorrow.  Every  sin  against 
her  was  forgotten ;  she  could  only  remember  the  husband 
of  her  bridal  days  when  they  thought  themselves  the 
happiest  two  people  in  the  world  and  life  lay  before  them, 
a  long,  rose-strewn  path  glowing  with  hope  and  love. 

Of tenest  of  all  her  memories  she  dwelt  upon  that  ride  up 
the  winding  road  to  Kalorama  under  sunset  skies.  It  was 
the  last  of  her  absolutely  unalloyed  memories  and  for  that 
reason,  without  doubt,  the  most  vivid. 

It  was  a  strange  thing  in  Kitty,  and  one  that  Morland 
soon  discovered,  that  in  all  her  sorrow  there  was  mingled 
no  remorse.  He  had  been  fancying  that  the  bitterest  pang 


JOHN  MORLAND  245 

in  her  overwhelming  grief  would  be  that  she  must  often 
accuse  herself  of  having  been  faithless,  in  thought,  at  least, 
to  her  husband.  When  it  was  first  made  clear  to  him  that 
Kitty  had  no  such  accusations  to  make  against  herself  he 
could  not,  for  a  time,,  understand  it,  and  he  began  to  fear 
that  Kitty  must  be  as  heartless  as  she  was  often  charged 
with  being.  But  he  came  later  to  take  a  different  view  of 
this  apparent  moral  obtuseness:  he  came  to  believe  that 
Kitty  did  not  accuse  herself  of  having  been  faithless,  even 
in  thought,  for  the  simple  reason  that  she  never  had  been 
faithless.  All  her  apparent  infatuation  with  Montclair 
was  explained  to  him  now  as  merely  a  surface  attempt  of 
Kitty's  to  try  to  amuse  herself  into  an  oblivion  of  Suther 
land's  untrustworthiness.  It  was  the  instinctive  struggle 
of  a  dumb  soul  after  life  and  breath  —  a  frantic  beating  of 
the  waves  to  keep  herself  afloat  lest  she  sink  under  the 
sluggish  waters  and  perish. 

The  nearest  approach  Kitty  ever  made  to  expressing  any 
regret  for  the  past  was  one  evening  when  they  were  all 
together  in  Mrs.  McCabe's  room  and  Janet  was  saying 
her  prayers  to  her  grandmother.  Kitty  turned  to  Morland 
and  said  in  a  low  undertone  that  could  not  reach  Janet: 

"  Oh,  if  I  had  only  not  gone  rowing  with  Mr.  Montclair 
that  night!" 

Morland  had  no  response  to  make.  It  had  been  a  bitter 
disappointment  to  him  that  Kitty  had  not  been  more  moved 
by  Janet.  He  had  felt  at  the  time,  having  such  a  dislike 
and  distrust  of  Montclair,  that  she  was,  to  say  the  very 
least,  doing  a  dreadfully  imprudent  thing.  It  had  been 
late  when  she  returned  —  he  had  listened  anxiously  until 
he  had  heard  her  voice  bidding  Montclair  good-night  — 
but  he  could  only  hope  that  it  was  but  a  bit  of  wilful 


246  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

defiance  on  Kitty's  part  —  a  childish  effort  to  assert  her 
independence,  and  her  genuine  grief  over  her  husband's 
death  confirmed  that  view.  But  there  was  such  exagger 
ated  remorse  in  Kitty's  tones  now  that  a  startled  suspicion 
presented  itself  to  him,  and  he  could  not  forbear  looking 
up  quickly  and  questioningly. 

Kitty  did  not  understand  his  look,  but  she  answered  the 
question  in  it. 

"I  was  trying  to  be  so  gay  and  careless,  and  he  had  been 
three  weeks  dead.  Oh,  it  is  terrible!  And  I  did  not  want 
to  go;  I  was  in  an  ugly  mood,  and  I  went  because  I  thought 
it  would  worry  you  and  mother." 

Morland's  relief  was  so  sudden  and  so  great  that  he 
almost  answered  with  a  smile,  and  from  that  moment  he 
no  longer  doubted  that  Kitty  had  no  occasion  for  remorse. 

By  the  time  Morland  had  straightened  out  Kitty's 
affairs  sufficiently  to  allow  him  to  think  of  going  to 
Tennessee  it  was  nearing  June.  The  Sutherlands,  heart 
broken  over  the  death  of  their  only  son,  and  most  of  all 
over  the  terrible  manner  of  it,  had  begged  Kitty  and  Janet 
once  more  to  spend  the  summer  with  them  on  the  James 
town  plantation;  and  since  Kitty,  made  very  tender  toward 
her  mother  by  this  sorrow,  dreaded  leaving  her,  as  much  for 
the  loneliness  her  mother  would  feel  as  for  the  loss  of  her 
supporting  love  and  sympathy,  Mrs.  McCabe  was  included 
in  the  invitation.  It  seemed  an  ideal  arrangement  to 
Morland,  and  he  set  off  on  his  long  ride  to  Tennessee  with 
less  concern  for  Kitty  than  he  had  felt  for  many  years  in 
starting  on  that  familiar  journey.  Kitty  in  her  heavy 
widow's  weeds,  the  laughter  of  her  merry  Irish  eyes 
drenched  in  tears,  seemed  to  him  a  Kitty  for  whom  he  could 
feel  a  gentle  pity  and  tender  sympathy,  but  for  whom  he 


JOHN  MORLAND  247 

need  suffer  none  of  the  poignant  anxiety  that  had  some 
times  assailed  him  for  her  in  the  lonely  mountain  passes. 

He  could  not  take  that  ride  through  these  mountain 
passes  in  the  lovely  late  May  and  early  June,  with  no  one  to 
talk  to  but  Jeff,  without  spending  many  hours  in  long 
thoughts  of  Kitty.  All  the  mountains  were  a-bloom. 
Masses  of  pink  and  white  laurel  flushed  the  hoary  crests 
of  the  hills,  the  brilliant  white  of  dogwood  starred  the  green 
of  open  forest  glades,  and  wild  honeysuckle  and  wild  rose 
threw  their  blushing  garlands  over  every  gray  rock  and 
brown,  decaying  stump.  The  world  was  in  bridal  array  ? 
and  small  wonder  if  the  heart  of  this  man,  held  strongly 
in  leash  for  years,  stirred  and  throbbed  in  response  to 
nature's  mood.  Yet  he  did  not  consciously  yield  to  these 
stirrings.  Kitty  in  her  young  widowhood  seemed  to  him 
as  sacred  and  almost  as  remote  as  Kitty  in  her  wifehood. 
Sometimes  there  flashed  for  a  moment  before  his  spiritual 
vision  a  distant  future  with  a  great  happiness  in  store  for 
him,  but  he  never  gave  that  happiness  a  name  nor  let  his 
thoughts  dwell  definitely  upon  it. 

On  his  long-delayed  arrival  in  Tennessee  he  found  him 
self  plunged  at  once  into  such  a  vortex  of  campaign  work  as 
admitted  no  intrusive  dreams  to  lure  him  from  his  tasks. 
That  was  the  summer  when  the  network  of  wires  so  cun 
ningly  laid  by  the  master  hand  of  Van  Buren  —  Burr's 
great  pupil  —  set  in  motion  the  tremendous  political  forces 
of  the  second  Jackson  campaign  that  swept  the  chieftain 
resistlessly  on  to  his  triumph  in  November. 

Van  Buren  was  the  general  in  command  of  these  forces, 
but  he  had  a  tireless  aide-de-camp  in  Morland.  In  the 
very  prime  of  his  young  manhood,  full  of  honourable 
ambitions  for  himself,  but  animated  far  more  by  love  and 


248  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

devotion  to  the  old  chieftain  than  by  any  personal  desires, 
the  latter  proved  himself  the  strong  right  arm  of  the 
movement.  He  spent  the  summer  of  1828  in  the  saddle. 
Riding  from  Nashville  to  New  York,  and  missing  on  his 
way  no  political  centre  of  importance,  he  planned,  devised, 
and  executed  with  wonderful  skill  and  swiftness. 

He  had  returned  to  Washington  barely  in  time  for  the 
opening  of  Congress,  and  he  had  never  come  back  in  such 
high  spirits  or  looked  forward  to  his  return  to  his  home  at 
Mrs.  McCabe's  with  such  a  quickening  pulse.  Jackson 
was  elected,  there  was  no  question  of  it  this  time,  but  that 
alone  could  not  account  for  the  elation  that  sent  the  blood 
racing  through  his  veins  as  he  drew  up  before  the  door  of 
McCabe's.  As  usual  he  came  unannounced,  and  at 
an  hour  when  the  dining-room  was  almost  deserted,  though 
Tim  was  there  to  give  him  his  usual  sonorous  greeting 
and  to  insist  that  he  should  go  at  once  to  Mrs.  McCabe's 
parlour.  But  this  Morland  absolutely  refused  to  do.  His 
room  was  always  waiting  for  him,  and  he  would  go  to  it 
and  make  himself  presentable  to  appear  before  the  ladies. 

Jeff  never  found  his  master  more  difficult  to  please  in 
matters  of  neck  ruffles  and  boots,  waistcoats  and  hair 
parting.  Morland  actually  fumed  and  fussed  at  the 
last  when,  owing  to  his  state  of  excitement,  Jeff's  fingers 
became  more  and  more  thumby.  Yet  it  was  apparently  a 
very  cool  and  stately  young  Senator  who  presented  himself 
finally  in  Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour. 

There  he  was  doomed  to  the  pangs  of  hope  deferred. 
Mrs.  McCabe  was  there,  greeting  him  with,  if  possible, 
even  more  than  her  old-time  sweetness  and  cordiality,  for 
with  every  returning  year  Morland  had  seemed  more  and 
more  like  one  of  the  family.  And  Janet  was  there,  grown 


JOHN  MORLAND  249 

ravishingly  and  angelically  beautiful  in  the  six  months  of 
Morland's  absence.  She  regarded  him  for  a  moment  with 
wide,  wondering  eyes,  and  then  a  radiant  smile  of  recogni 
tion  lighted  up  her  baby  face  and  she  ran  to  him  with 
outstretched  arms  crying  ecstatically,  "Uncle  Morland! 
Uncle  Morland!" 

He  felt  all  the  warmth  his  manner  expressed  in  returning 
the  greetings  of  both,  but  he  was  disappointed.  Where 
was  Kitty  ?  Moreover  he  was  too  self-conscious  to  make 
the  very  natural  inquiries  for  her  that  might  have  been 
expected,  and  Mrs.  McCabe  did  not  volunteer  any  explana 
tion  of  her  absence. 

But  Janet,  enthroned  upon  his  knee,  was  pretty  sure 
to  give  him  all  possible  information  on  every  possible 
topic  if  only  allowed  the  freedom  of  her  tongue  which  was 
now  wagging  at  both  ends,  being  an  organ  very  delicately 
balanced  in  the  middle.  She  began  almost  immediately 
with  her  most  important  piece  of  news : 

"My  papa's  in  heaven.  I  'm  going  to  heaven  some 
day.  I  think  I'll  go  to-morrow"  -head  on  one  side 
and  lips  drawn  tight  together  in  the  attitude  of  consider 
ing  whether  it  should  be  to-morrow  or  some  other  day. 
"Heaven  's  a  boosul  place.  God  lives  up  there." 

In  the  act  of  lifting  her  eyes  toward  heaven  she 
discovered  a  crack  in  the  ceiling  plaster. 

"Oh,"  ecstatically,  and  pointing  a  chubby  finger 
upward,  "God  made  that  crack  to  look  through  and  see 
us.  He  sees  us  all  the  time.  My  mamma  says  so." 

Now  it  pleased  Morland  greatly  to  learn  from  the 
baby's  artless  prattle  that  Kitty  had  taken  to  talking  to  her 
of  God  and  heaven.  To  Morland  it  argued  that  Kitty's 
own  heart,  in  her  sorrow,  had  turned  to  heavenly  things. 


250  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Especially  it  pleased  him  that,  as  he  divined  from  the 
child's  prattle,  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  talking  to  her 
of  her  father;  teaching  her,  no  doubt,  to  love  him  and  to 
honour  his  memory.  Moreover,  the  child's  references  to 
her  mother  gave  Morland  a  chance  to  make  his  inquiry 
naturally. 

"Where  is  mamma?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  my  mamma's  riding  on  a  great,  great,  big  horse," 
Janet  answered  impressively,  and  at  that  moment  caught 
sight  of  her  mother  through  the  window. 

"There  's  my  mamma!  There  's  my  mamma!"  she 
cried  excitedly,  and  slipping  from  Morland  's  knee,  seized 
his  hand.  "Come,  come  quick  and  see  my  mamma  on 
the  big  horse." 

Morland  let  the  child  lead  him  through  the  dining- 
hall  to  the  door,  quite  willing  to  go  to  meet  Kitty  and  help 
her  from  her  horse.  It  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  there 
could  be  any  one  with  her  and  he  strode  quickly  along  to 
keep  pace  with  the  child's  dancing  steps.  But  in  the 
doorway  he  stopped,  and  Janet  tugged  at  his  hand  to  draw 
him  further  in  vain. 

He  had  never  seen  Kitty  on  a  horse  before,  and  his  first 
swift  glance  at  her  assured  him  that  he  had  never  before 
seen  her  to  such  advantage.  She  was  riding  a  high-strung 
chestnut  mare  who  objected  evidently  to  being  brought  up 
to  the  horse-block.  Kitty's  firm  seat  on  the  prancing  horse 
and  her  light  hand  on  the  bridle  controlling  the  excited 
animal,  all  her  beautiful  curves  fully  displayed  in  the  close- 
fitting  habit,  the  bright  halo  of  ringlets  that  the  motion  of 
her  ride  had  set  free  about  her  face,  the  glowing,  dark- 
fringed  eyes  and  the  heightened  colour  of  her  cheek,  partly 
due  to  the  exercise  and  partly  to  the  effort  required  in  con- 


JOHN  MORLAND  251 

trolling  the  mare,  all  made  a  dazzling  vision  in  Morland's 
first  swift  glance.  But  his  second  had  gone  beyond  Kitty 
to  the  man  at  her  side.  And  the  man  at  her  side  was 
Montclair! 

In  a  moment  all  the  joy  of  Morland's  home-coming  — 
for  so  he  had  phrased  it  to  himself  —  was  turned  to  bitter 
ness.  This  man  was  to  be  always  wormwood  in  his  cup. 
There  was  no  real  reason  why  Kitty  should  not  now  ride 
with  Montclair  if  she  wranted  too,  he  said  to  himself;  but 
he  had  been  thinking  of  her  in  the  depths  of  a  consuming 
grief,  cherishing  tenderly  the  memory  of  her  unhappy 
husband,  and  it  was  a  rude  awakening  to  find  that  she  had 
so  soon  taken  up  the  threads  of  this  affair  with  Montclair 
where  she  had  dropped  them  at  her  husband's  death. 

He  did  not  know  that,  framed  in  the  doorway,  Janet 
clinging  to  his  hand,  he  was  making  in  a  way  as  striking  a 
picture  as  Kitty  on  her  spirited  horse.  But  Kitty  knew 
it.  She  stole  more  than  one  glance  at  him  from  under  her 
long  lashes  while  pretending  to  be  so  engaged  as  not  to 
have  seen  him.  He  stood  facing  the  low  afternoon  sun  of 
winter  and  its  cold,  hard  glare  brought  out  into  brilliant 
relief  the  lines  of  his  erect,  well-knit  figure  and  strong  face, 
the  vivid  colouring  of  his  long  blue  coat,  gilt  buttons  and 
snowy  neck-cloth,  the  crisp  waves  of  brown  hair,  the  good 
red  blood  showing  under  the  bronzed  skin,  the  deep  blue 
of  his  honest  eyes  at  this  moment  looking  with  cold  dis 
pleasure  at  Kitty  and  Montclair. 

Not  a  line,  not  a  tint,  not  a  fleeting  change  of  expression 
was  lost  on  Kitty,  but  she  only  made  her  mare  prance  and 
curvet  the  more  until  Morland  began  to  think  she  was 
really  becoming  unmanageable  and  it  was  time  for  him  to 
go  to  Kitty's  assistance.  But  at  his  first  movement  for- 


252  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

ward  Kitty  brought  the  animal  down  quietly  to  the  horse 
block  and  with  a  great  show  of  surprise  seemed  for  the  first 
time  to  recognize  Morland.  She  leaned  forward  from  her 
horse,  drew  off  her  riding  gauntlet  and  graciously  extended 
her  hand.  If  Morland  had  had  any  idea  of  taking  her  to 
task  for  any  breach  of  decorum  he  dismissed  it  at  that 
moment.  Kitty  had  "placed"  him  and  he  submitted. 
Seeing  which,  she  very  graciously  permitted  him  to  assist 
her  to  alight  and,  having  with  effusive  cordiality  dismissed 
Montclair,  she  turned  and  accompanied  Morland  and 
Janet  into  the  house. 

"That  was  a  fine  animal  you  were  riding,"  Morland  said 
as  they  walked  along  together,  trying  to  make  conversation 
since  he  found  himself  curiously  embarrassed,  "Mr. 
Montclair  seems  to  have  a  good  eye  for  horse-flesh." 

"Oh,  she  does  not  belong  to  Mr.  Montclair,"  said  Kitty 
carelessly;  "she  belongs  to  the  Senseman  stables.  But 
I  have  ridden  her  a  number  of  times  and  I  like  her 
extremely." 

"Do  you  ride  frequently?"  Morland  asked,  trying  to 
control  his  unruly  pulses. 

"Not  as  frequently  as  I  should  like  to.  Some  day  I 
shall  have  a  horse  of  my  own,  I  hope,  and  ride  to  my  heart's 
content." 

"Does  she  mean  that  some  day  she  will  marry  Montclair 
and  so  have  all  the  riding  she  wants  ?  "  Morland  asked 
himself,  and  grew  a  shade  colder  and  statelier  in  his 
manner. 

He  had  not  once  called  her  "Kitty,"  and  Kitty  had 
noticed  that  he  had  not.  She  had  taken  the  control  of  the 
situation  at  the  moment  of  their  meeting,  but  she  was  con 
trolling  it  almost  too  perfectly  to  please  herself.  Morland 


JOHN  MORLAND  253 

was  now  devoting  all  his  attention  to  Janet  who,  still  cling 
ing  to  his  hand,  was  dancing  along  beside  him,  and 
very  soon  after  their  return  to  Mrs.  McCabe's  room  the 
clang  of  the  great  gong,  beaten  by  a  stalwart  Negro, 
announced  dinner,  and  he  was  not  sorry  for  the  excuse  it 
gave  him  for  withdrawing. 

Alone  in  his  room  after  dinner  he  paced  his  floor  back 
and  forth  trying  to  come  to  some  conclusion  about  Kitty. 
It  seemed  to  him  not  wise  that  Montclair  should  be  left 
to  work  out  his  designs  without  let  or  hindrance.  He 
would  not  own,  even  to  himself,  that  with  Kitty  only  a 
seven-months'  widow  he  had  any  designs  of  his  own. 
But  on  one  thing  he  was  quite  resolved:  it  would  not  be 
good  for  Kitty  to  marry  Montclair,  and  since  she  had 
already  broken  the  seclusion  of  her  mourning  by  appearing 
in  public  with  this  man  it  could  do  no  harm  to  appear  with 
him  also.  He  sat  down  and  wrote  her  a  note,  and  because 
he  would  not  call  her  Kitty  and  could  not  bring  himself 
to  call  her  Mrs.  Sutherland  in  direct  discourse,  he  wrote  it 
in  the  formal  third  person: 

"  Mr.  Morland's  compliments  and  he  hopes  Mrs.  Suther 
land  will  do  him  the  honour  of  riding  with  him  to-morrow 
at  three.  She  shall  have  Senseman's  mare  to  ride  on." 

As  it  was  not  late,  he  dispatched  his  note  at  once  by  Jeff 
and  awaited  the  answer  with  some  impatience.  It  came 
in  as  brief  a  space  of  time  as  could  well  be  expected  and 
was  also  in  the  third  person: 

"Mrs.  Sutherland's  compliments  to  Major  Morland. 
She  regrets  exceedingly  that  she  has  an  engagement  for 
to-morrow  afternoon," 

"  It  shall  not  be  with  the  Senseman  mare,"  said  Morland 
to  himself,  and  picking  up  his  hat  he  went  down  at  once  to 


254    THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

the  Senseraan  stables,  where,  with  less  bickering  and 
fewer  investigations  as  to  pedigree  than  were  usual  with 
him  in  buying  a  horse,  he  bought  the  mare  that  Kitty 
loved  —  for  a  good  round  sum  —  and  had  her  sent  down 
that  night  to  the  stable  where  he  kept  his  own  horses. 

"That  may  seem  to  Kitty  like  a  small  piece  of  spite," 
Morland  mused  when  the  transaction  was  completed, 
"  but,  if  I  know  myself,  spite  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I 
am  merely  trying  to  insure  against  her  rides  with  Mont- 
clair  proving  too  attractive  through  the  chestnut  mare, 
and  to  secure  for  myself  an  attraction  that  may  induce  her 
to  ride  with  me  occasionally.  It  shall  be  hers  to  ride  when 
ever  she  wants  it,  with  or  without  me,  and  I  shall  tell 
her  so  —  only  I  must  find  some  means  of  making  her 
understand  that  she  is  not  to  take  my  mare  to  ride  with 
Montclair." 

"  And  how  under  the  canopy  am  I  to  tell  her  that  without 
bringing  a  hornets'  nest  about  my  ears!"  he  said  aloud, 
with  a  reminiscent  shrug.  "She  's  a  little  vixen  at  times, 
but  iust  the  same  'God  bless  her!'" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  TRIFLE  LIGHT  AS  AIR 

JOHN  MORLAND  would  have  scorned  to  seem  to 
be  spying  upon  Kitty  and  Montclair,  and  much  more 
would  he  have  scorned  to  be  actually  spying  upon  them, 
with  or  without  seeming;  yet  a  trifling  accident  put  him 
into  a  position  where  he  could  neither  help  the  spying 
nor  avoid  the  appearance  of  it. 

Sitting  at  his  desk  in  the  Senate  -chamber  he  sud 
denly  discovered  that  he  had  left  in  his  room  at  McCabe's 
some  papers  that  were  of  vital  importance  to  the  ques 
tion  under  discussion.  He  could  not  send  a  page  for  them, 
since  they  were  locked  up  with  other  valuable  papers 
to  which  he  permitted  no  access  by  anyone.  It  was  but 
a  five-minutes'  walk  from  the  Capitol  to  McCabe's  —  he 
would  go  for  them  himself. 

Had  he  remembered  that  engagement  of  Kitty's  he 
would  have  still  felt  compelled  to  go  for  them,  trusting  that 
he  might  not  happen  to  hit  upon  the  exact  minute  of 
Montclair's  arrival.  But,  for  the  moment,  he  had  not 
remembered  it,  and  it  came  upon  him  as  a  shock  to 
find  Montclair  standing  before  the  door  of  McCabe's 
holding  by  the  bridles  two  horses,  neither  of  which  was 
Senseman's  mare.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
hurry  by  him  with  the  slight  nod  which  was  all  he 
usually  accorded  Montclair,  hoping  that  he  might  escape 
to  his  own  room  without  meeting  Kitty,  and  fully 

255 


256  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

determined  to  remain  there  until  the  two  should  have 
set  off  upon  their  ride. 

But  luck  was  against  him  —  or  for  him,  Montclair 
would  have  said.  He  had  not  yet  reached  the  stoop,  nor 
yet  been  discovered  by  Montclair,  when  Kitty  appeared  in 
the  doorway,  looking  to  Morland's  jealous  eyes  a  little 
more  ravishing  even  than  usual,  as  if  by  some  conscious 
art  she  had  willed  to  make  herself  more  beautiful  for  Mont 
clair  than  for  others.  But  the  radiant  smile  that  fell  upon 
Montclair  was  a  fleeting  one. 

"Where  is  my  mare?"  she  asked  imperiously,  a  quick 
frown  darkening  her  smiling  eyes. 

"I  could  not  get  her,"  Montclair  answered  depreca- 
tingly.  "Mr.  Senseman  has  sold  her." 

"Sold  her!"  Wrath  was  gathering  in  Kitty's  eyes  and 
voice  and  Montclair  visibly  quailed  under  it.  "It  seems 
to  me,  Mr.  Montclair,  that  might  have  been  prevented.  If 
the  mare  was  for  sale  why  did  you  not  buy  her?" 

"Indeed,  Kitty,"  Morland  winced  at  Montclair's 
familiar  use  of  her  name,  "I  had  no  idea  the  mare  was 
for  sale,  or  I  would  have  bought  her  gladly.  But  Mr. 
Senseman  assures  me,"  he  went  on  hurriedly,  hoping  to 
avert  the  storm  he  saw  impending,  "that  this  one  is  quite 
as  good.  Will  you  not  try  her?  And  if  you  like  her  I 
will  buy  her  and  so  insure  your  always  having  her." 

"Thank  you,  no,"  said  Kitty  with  superb  hauteur. 
"You  promised  me  a  ride  on  Brown  Bess.  When  you 
come  back  with  her  I  will  ride  with  you,  but  not  until 
then.  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Montclair,"  and  Kitty  turned 
and  swept  into  the  house,  her  long  riding-skirt  trailing 
behind  her  and  adding  inches  to  her  height  and  stateliness 
to  her  manner. 


JOHN  MORLAND  257 

The  little  altercation  had  lasted  scarcely  more  than  a 
minute,  a  minute  which  Morland  had  occupied  in  retarding 
his  steps,  since  he  could  neither  beat  an  undignified  retreat 
nor  stand  still  with  the  appearance  of  listening.  He 
would  have  been  hardly  mortal  if  Kitty's  manner  of  taking 
Brown  Bess's  defection  had  not  given  him  secret  joy,  but 
it  was  with  an  absolutely  impassive  face  that  he  put  his 
foot  on  the  first  step  of  the  stoop  and  with  a  cool  "  Good 
afternoon,  Mr.  Montclair,"  started  to  enter  the  house. 

But  Montclair  stopped  him.  He  saw  at  once  that 
Morland  had  been  witness  to  his  discomfiture  and  morti 
fication  added  fuel  to  his  wrath. 

"Senator  Morland,"  he  said,  in  a  white  rage,  "do  you 
know  who  bought  Senseman's  mare,  Brown  Bess?" 

Morland  turned  and  bestowed  upon  him  an  astonished 
stare. 

"I  know  of  no  right  you  have,  Mr.  Montclair,"  he  said, 
coldly,  "to  put  me  on  the  witness  stand.  I  am  in  haste 
to  return  to  the  Capitol,  and  you  will  excuse  me  from 
stopping  to  discuss  with  you  any  question,  since  there  can 
be  none  between  you  and  me  of  mutual  interest  or 
importance." 

He  gave  Montclair  no  chance  to  reply,  but  turning  on  his 
heel,  without  accelerating  his  pace,  entered  the  dining- 
room  and  crossed  to  the  staircase  on  the  other  side  which 
led  to  his  rooms.  As  he  mounted  the  stairs  he  heard  the 
keen  swish  of  a  quirt  and  the  hurried  clatter  of  hoofs, 
and  at  the  sound  he  permitted  himself  a  grim  smile. 

His  little  scheme  had  turned  out  better  than  his  hopes, 
yet  it  was  not  without  some  misgivings  that  he  met  Kitty 
that  evening  in  her  mother's  parlour,  fully  determined  to 
let  her-know  that  he  had  been  the  purchaser  of  Brown  Bess. 


258  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

It  would  be  quite  like  Kitty  to  uncork  the  vials  of  her  wrath 
upon  him  also,  and  he  schooled  himself  to  meet  it  with  a 
brave  front. 

He  found  Kitty  and  Janet  in  a  great  romp.  Janet  was 
hiding,  always  in  plain  sight,  and  Kitty  was  hunting  for 
her  with  great  pretence  of  the  impossibility  of  finding  her, 
until  at  Janet's  repeated,  "  Here  I  am  mamma,"  she  turned 
upon  her  with  noisy  exclamations  of  surprise  and  delighted 
shouts  of  laughter  from  Janet  at  being  found.  Mrs. 
McCabe  and  Morland  sat  by  and  watched  the  pretty  play 
until  Emmeline  came  and  Janet's  prayers  were  said  and 
Janet  carried  off  to  bed,  still  gurgling  sleepily  over  the 
joys  of  "Hide  and  Seek." 

Morland  seized  the  first  moment  after  they  had  settled 
quietly  and  cosily  to  talking. 

"Kitty,"  he  said,  "I  bought  something  yesterday  that  I 
hope  you  will  like." 

"For  me?"  said  Kitty,  looking  up  with  something  of 
the  pleased  expression  of  a  child  expecting  a  new  toy. 

"Yes,  virtually  for  you.  I  bought  Brown  Bess  because 
you  seemed  to  like  her  so  much,  and  she  is  to  be  yours 
to  ride  whenever  you  want  her,  on  one  condition." 

"Brown  Bess!"  was  Kitty's  first  delighted  exclamation, 
but  it  was  quickly  followed  by  an  imperious:  "Condition! 
I  do  not  like  conditions,  sir." 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Morland  coolly.  "No  one 
does.  Neither  do  I  like  to  make  them,  but  this  time  I 
felt  compelled  to.  Brown  Bess  is  yours,  as  I  said,  to 
ride  whenever  you  want  her,  and  you  can  have  Jeff 
to  go  with  you  when  you  like;  but  when  you  ride 
Brown  Bess  you  are  not  to  permit  any  gentleman  to 
ride  with  you." 


JOHN  MORLAND  259 

"Except  Brown  Bess's  owner,  I  suppose?"  said  Kitty 
quickly  and  scornfully. 

"Certainly.  Brown  Bess's  owner  will  always  be  the 
exception,"  said  Morland,  still  coolly.  "If  any  other 
man  wants  to  invite  you  to  ride  he  can  furnish  his 
own  horses.  Will  you  ride  with  me  to-morrow  after 
noon,  Kitty?" 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  disdainfully.  "  I  think  I  would  prefer 
riding  with  Jeff." 

"  Very  well.  Jeff  is  at  your  service.  At  what  hour  shall 
I  tell  him  to  have  the  horses  ready  ?" 

He  spoke  quietly,  but  he  could  not  prevent  a  slightly 
heightened  colour,  and  Kitty  saw  it  and  relented. 

"Oh,  well,"  she  said  pettishly,  for  she  would  not  yield 
gracefully,  "I  suppose  I  might  as  well  go  with  you.  Can 
you  get  off  by  three?" 

"I  can,"  said  Morland,  with  brief  courtesy,  for  he  was 
nettled.  Kitty  managed  to  steal  all  the  joy  out  of  every 
pleasure,  he  said  to  himself  bitterly,  though  on  second 
thought  he  concluded  that  he  ought  to  be  grateful  for  get 
ting  off  so  easily.  She  had  not  taken  his  head  off  as  he  had 
more  than  half  expected  her  to  do. 

He  hardly  knew  whether  the  sensation  he  experienced  in 
looking  forward  to  his  ride  the  next  afternoon  was 
delight  or  misgiving,  but  Kitty  appearing  all  smiles  and 
sweetness  quickly  banished  every  fear.  She  had  added 
a  drooping  ostrich  plume  to  her  little  black  riding  hat,  and 
it  mingled  bewitchingly  with  her  chestnut  curls  and  shaded 
and  softened  her  dancing  gray  eyes  in  such  fashion  as 
left  Morland  completely  defenceless.  His  foolish  heart 
gave  one  exultant  beat  —  "  Did  she  do  that  for  me  ?  " 
Then  he  sobered  himself  with  the  thought  that  Kitty  was  a 


260  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

born  coquette  and  she  would  have  done  the  same  for  any 
man  —  certainly  as  much,  or  more,  for  Montclair. 

It  was  a  still  day  in  early  December,  with  a  soft  haze 
lying  on  the  hills  and  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  and 
gently  rustling  leaves  in  the  golden  wood  where  the  fall 
had  lingered  late  and  the  winter  tarried  in  coming  that 
year.  Kitty  led  the  way  and  led  it  first  down  the 
Avenue  —  no  one  in  Washington  had  ever  seen  Morland 
riding  with  a  lady,  she  should  not  hide  him  away 
from  the  eyes  of  envious  belles.  But  they  soon  left 
the  Avenue  and  crossed  the  stone  bridge  over  Goose 
Creek  and  then  through  the  ford  at  Rock  Creek; 
though  the  rushing  little  stream  of  April  was  now 
such  a  tiny  thread  it  could  have  been  easily  forded 
at  any  point.  They  turned  to  follow  a  path  that  led 
along  its  winding  banks  through  the  woods,  just  at  that 
enchanting  spot  that  in  the  spring  was  always  carpeted 
with  purple  violets  —  an  open  forest  glade  carpeted  now 
with  pure  gold  from  the  fallen  leaves  of  spreading  chestnuts 
and  hickories.  It  was  a  spot  strongly  associated  in 
Kitty's  mind  with  two  of  the  marked  days  of  her  life. 
The  second  one  of  those  two  days  was  one  of  her  most 
vivid  memories  of  Sutherland,  and  at  the  remembrance  all 
Kitty's  little  coquetries  fell  away  from  her. 

"I  love  this  spot,"  said  Kitty,  fervently,  "let's  stop 
here  a  little  while,  can't  we?" 

It  pleased  Morland  that  she  should  propose  it,  and  he 
lifted  her  from  Brown  Bess,  tied  the  two  horses  to  a  tree 
at  a  little  distance,  and  raked  together  a  mound  of  golden 
leaves  for  a  seat  under  a  magnificent  chestnut.  Kitty's 
mood  seemed  to  be  in  tune  with  the  gentle  melancholy  of 
the  day.  Heavy  frosts  had  opened  the  brown  burrs 


JOHN  MORLAND  261 

scattered  in  a  great  circle  around  them  and  Morland  piled 
Kitty's  lap  with  the  glossy  nuts  and  together  they  watched 
the  little  squirrels,  bright-eyed  and  fearless,  whisking 
them  away  almost  from  under  their  very  hands  and 
evidently  keeping  covetous  eyes  on  Kitty's  hoard. 

"  I  could  almost  wish  I  were  a  squirrel,"  said  Kitty  with 
a  little  sigh. 

"Why?"  asked  Morland,  wondering  what  Kitty's  sigh 
could  mean. 

"Oh,  it  is  such  a  happy,  careless  life,  no  one  to  blame 
or  criticize.  No  heart  to  suffer  with,  and  no  conscience 
to  upbraid,  but  just  to  frisk  all  summer  through  the  green 
boughs  and  gather  a  hoard  of  nuts  in  the  fall  to  keep  them 
in  their  cosy  nests  through  the  winter.  I  wish  I  were  a 
squirrel!" 

Morland  did  not  reply  for  a  moment;  he  was  wondering 
what  he  should  say,  and  Kitty  went  on,  more  bitterly: 

"It  hardly  seems  fair  that  of  all  God's  created  beings 
only  men  and  women  should  be  born  to  unhappiness.  I 
needed  so  little  to  make  me  so  happy.  If  only  Will  had 
been  always  what  he  was  when  we  were  first  married  no 
one  in  the  world  would  have  been  happier  than  I,  and  I 
believe  I  could  have  been  a  model  wife." 

"Yes,  I  know,  Kitty,"  said  Morland,  with  genuine 
sympathy,  "it  seems  hard.  And  it  was  harder  for  Will 
than  for  you.  He  wanted  to  do  right;  and  think  of  his 
despair  at  the  last." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  I  know! "  Kitty  was  in  an  agony  of  grief. 
"God  has  no  right  to  make  a  man  like  Will.  He  never 
wanted  to  do  wrong.  He  was  so  gay  and  brave  and  lov 
able  when  he  was  himself,  but  he  was  so  weak.  Oh,  how 
could  a  good  God  make  a  man  like  that  ?  I  tell  Janet  that 


262  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

her  father  is  in  heaven,  and  that  if  she  is  good  some 
day  she  will  go  to  heaven  and  see  him;  but  if  all  the 
Church  teaches  me  is  true,  I  am  telling  Janet  lies;  he  Is 
not  in  heaven,  he  is  suffering  torments  of  which  I  cannot 
have  the  faintest  conception,  and  I  am  carelessly  going 
about  in  the  sunshiny  world  doing  all  the  things  we  used 
to  do  together,  and  trying  with  all  my  might  to  harden 
my  heart  and  forget  him.  It  is  n't  fair!  It  is  n't  fair! " 

Kitty  was  in  a  torrent  of  tears  by  this  time,  but  it  was 
a  mood  Morland  liked  so  much  better  than  the  one  she 
herself  called  "careless  and  hard  hearted,"  and  the 
only  one  he  had  seen  since  his  return,  that  he  would  not 
try  to  stop  her.  He  waited  until  she  had  grown  quieter 
and  then  he  said: 

"Sometimes  I  think,  Kitty,  we  saddle  God  writh  a  great 
deal  that  does  not  belong  to  him.  Having  created  us 
in  his  own  image  and  made  us  "gods"  like  unto  Himself, 
and  endowed  us  with  the  power  of  good  and  evil,  He  has 
placed  us  beyond  even  His  own  control.  He  has  given  us 
infinite  capacities.  There  is  no  limit  to  the  heights  we 
may  reach  or  the  depths  to  which  we  may  sink,  and  if  we 
fall,  instead  of  rise,  we  have  no  right  to  blame  Him  with  our 
failure." 

It  was  a  thought  on  which  Morland  had  dwelt  much 
but  of  which  he  had  never  before  spoken.  His  relations 
to  God  seemed  to  him  too  sacred  for  common  discussion. 
They  were  as  little  to  be  talked  about  as  his  relations  to 
the  woman  he  loved  —  if  he  should  ever  love  a  woman. 
Something  of  the  ardour  of  his  feeling  was  communicated 
to  eye  and  voice,  and  Kitty's  attention  was  arrested  and 
for  a  moment  she,  too,  thrilled  with  a  sense  of  her  own 
infinity:  of  the  measureless  heights  to  which  she  might 


JOHN  MORLAND  263 

rise  if  she  but  willed  it.  But  only  for  a  moment;  the 
thought  of  her  husband  came  back  with  a  returning  wave 
of  bitterness. 

"You  only  make  it  the  harder  for  poor  Will,"  she 
said  angrily.  "If  he  alone  is  to  be  responsible  for  his 
sins,  then  there  is  no  hope  for  him  in  any  hereafter,  and 
I  shall  tell  Janet  I  have  been  telling  her  lies  about  her 
father." 

"I  don't  think  so,  Kitty,"  said  Morland  earnestly.  "It 
seems  to  me  there  is  only  one  way  we  can  understand  God, 
and  that  is  by  analogy.  He  is  our  Father.  And  just  as  a 
father  here  loves  most  tenderly  his  weak  and  crippled 
son  who  needs  him  most,  so  does  He  love  His  morally 
weak  and  crippled  child  who  needs  Him  most.  I  learned 
to  know  Will  before  he  went  away  and  learned  to  love  him. 
If  I  could  make  allowance  for  his  faults,  how  much  more 
can  God,  his  Father." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Kitty  was 
restlessly  plunging  her  hand  into  the  sea  of  golden  leaves 
about  her  and  letting  them  sift  down  again  through  her 
opened  fingers,  and  Morland  was  watching  her  face.  No 
one  had  ever  spoken  so  to  Kitty  before  and  she  was  awed 
and  frightened  and  comforted,  all  in  one.  She  was 
thinking,  and  thinking  hard,  for  her.  As  for  Morland  he 
had  never  spoken  so  to  any  one  before,  and  he  was  half 
afraid  of  the  effect  his  words  might  have  on  Kitty,  and  half 
ashamed  to  have  so  bared  his  soul  to  any  human  being. 
Society  knew  him  only  as  a  handsome  young  man  of  the 
world;  men  knew  him  as  an  ardent  politician,  upright 
and  of  undoubted  integrity,  but  wholly  absorbed  in  party 
and  party  schemes.  What  had  induced  him  to  so  disclose 
his  inmost  heart  to  this  careless  chit  of  a  girl! 


264  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

He  watched  Kitty  anxiously,  therefore,  and  his  face  did 
not  clear  until  she  looked  up  and  spoke  with  a  gentle 
ness  and  sweetness  rare  in  her,  but  that  had,  on  those 
rare  occasions  when  he  had  seen  them  in  her,  proved 
irresistible. 

"I  hope  you  are  right,"  she  said  with  shining  eyes.  "I 
am  going  to  try  to  believe  you  are.  If  God  is  good  he  must 
feel  a  great  deal  sorrier  for  poor  Will  than  you  or  I  do." 

This  was  the  Kitty  Morland  had  always  believed  in. 
This  was  the  real  Kitty,  he  said  to  himself.  When 
she  should  try  him  again  and  again,  as  he  had  no  doubt 
she  would,  with  her  superficiality  and  wilfulness,  let  him 
but  remember  this  hour. 

Neither  Morland  nor  Kitty  cared  to  prolong  this  con 
versation.  It  was  too  intimate  and  too  intense  on 
both  sides. 

"It's  getting  late,"  said  Kitty,  rising  from  her  golden 
nest.  "We  must  be  going  if  we  are  to  finish  our  ride  to 
Georgetown  and  home  again  before  the  sun  sets." 

Once  on  their  horses  and  back  on  the  main  road  to 
Georgetown,  winding  gently  up  toward  "the  Heights," 
they  put  Brown  Bess  and  Selim  to  a  brisk  canter,  and 
every  vestige  of  seriousness  in  Kitty  vanished  in  the  crisp 
air  as  if  dissolved  in  some  sparkling  alembic.  When 
they  reached  the  beautiful  old  town  they  let  their  horses 
fall  into  a  slow  walk  down  the  wide  street  bordered  with 
stately  trees,  now  almost  bare  of  foliage,  and  their  horses' 
feet  rustling  through  their  fallen  leaves.  They  were 
admiring  the  beautiful  homes  on  both  sides  of  the  way 
and  indulging  in  a  little  harmless  gossip  of  the  owners. 
The  Georgetown  aristocracy  were  most  of  them  numbered 
among  Morland 's  friends,  and  Kitty,  if  she  could  not  claim 


JOHN  MORLAND  265 

friendship  with  them,  knew  them  at  least  by  sight  and 
by  report. 

As  they  neared  the  entrance  to  the  stately  grounds  of 
Monterey,  Mrs.  Calhoun's  carriage  passed  through  the 
great  gates  on  its  way  to  some  Washington  function,  and 
Mrs.  Calhoun,  sitting  in  it,  glanced  up  with  interest  at 
the  handsome  couple.  Morland  greeted  her  with  a  wide 
sweep  of  his  hat;  he  admired  Mrs.  Calhoun  greatly 
and  she  had  shown  much  partiality  for  the  hand 
some  young  Senator.  But  as  she  recognized  Kitty,  the 
smile  that  had  begun  to  return  his  greeting  froze  on  her 
lips.  She  nodded  curtly  and  coldly  and  turned  pointedly 
away  from  them. 

Morland  was  astounded,  hurt,  and  enraged.  The  last 
feeling  was  on  Kitty's  account,  for  he  could  not  but 
understand  the  cause  for  Mrs.  Calhoun's  manner.  He 
glanced  at  Kitty.  She  was  looking  straight  ahead  with  a 
white,  set  look  on  her  face  that  went  to  his  heart.  The 
woman  must  be  cruel  indeed  that  could  hurt  a  child  like 
Kitty,  he  said  to  himself.  He  did  not  know  that  the 
gossip  which  had  been  rife  the  winter  before,  and  of  the 
amount  of  which  even  then  he  had  guessed  but  little,  and 
which  for  the  few  weeks  immediately  following  Suther 
land's  death  had  quieted  down,  had  broken  out  with  new 
virulence  in  the  last  month.  Still  less  did  he  guess  that  it 
was  around  his  name  that  the  vilest  of  the  gossip  gathered 
—  that  to  him  the  lying  scandal-mongers  attributed  Suther 
land's  death  by  his  own  hand.  Up  to  this  moment  Mrs. 
Calhoun  had  been  staunch  in  her  defense  of  Morland,  but 
seeing  him,  for  the  first  time  since  his  return  and  close 
upon  the  heels  of  his  return,  riding  gaily  with  the 
much-talked  about  young  widow,  too  recently  a  widow, 


266  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

it  seemed  to  her,  to  permit  such  attentions,  struck  her 
as  irrefutable  proof.  A  trifle  light  as  air,  but  confirm 
ation  strong  as  Holy  Writ  —  she  would  be  foolish  any 
longer  to  refuse  to  believe. 

Kitty  knew  something  of  this  gossip.  She  had  heard  a 
little  of  it  and  guessed  more.  And  it  was  because  she  so 
clearly  understood  Mrs.  Calhoun's  action,  understood 
it  as  Morland  could  not,  that  she  was  white  to  the  lips  and 
ready  to  sink  with  mortification  and  pain;  the  mortifica 
tion  for  herself,  the  pain  for  Morland.  She  cared  little 
for  gossip  as  a  rule.  She  was  reckless  where  she  most 
ought  to  have  been  prudent,  and  careless  and  laughing 
at  idle  reports  that  would  have  made  a  more  sensitive 
woman  die  of  shame.  Never  before  had  she  suffered  under 
the  ostracism,  which  she  had  only  recently  begun  to  realize, 
as  she  suffered  at  this  moment,  and  with  a  relentless  clear 
sightedness  that  was  one  of  Kitty's  peculiar  gifts  she  knew 
why.  She  knew  she  was  suffering  because  she  could  not 
bear  to  be  scorned  before  Morland.  Oh,  if  he  should  only 
guess  at  the  lying  gossip  she  should  die  of  shame! 

She  knew  well  that  Morland  had  always  set  her  on  a 
pedestal;  that  for  him  she  could  do  no  wrong;  that  to  him 
she  was  a  little  finer  and  better  than  any  other  living 
woman.  She  had  always  known  how  he  regarded  her;  she 
had  known  it  even  as  a  child,  and  counted  as  surely  on  his 
undeviating  admiration  of  her  and  trust  in  her  as  she 
counted  on  her  mother's  love.  It  did  not  prevent  her 
being  wilful  with  him,  scornful  and  friendly  by  turns; 
neither  did  it  prevent  her  making  use  of  him  and  dropping 
him  at  convenience  like  an  old  glove,  for  she  knew  that 
under  every  provocation  her  image  shone  untarnished 
in  the  shrine  where  he  had  set  it.  Now,  for  one  intolerable 


SHK    lOltTIKD    BROWN    BESS'S    SENSITIVE  FLANK  SMARTLY  WITH 
1IKR    WHIT    AND    WAS   OFF   LIKE    THK   WIND" 


JOHN  MORLAND  267 

moment,  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  must  be  deposed,  cast 
down,  sullied,  shattered;  and  whether  it  was  her  vanity 
or  a  nobler  feeling  that  writhed  at  the  thought,  it  gave 
her  one  of  the  keenest  sensations  of  pain  she  had  yet 
known. 

But  it  was  only  for  one  intolerable  moment.  Kitty 
resented  pain  and  she  had  courage,  which  is  a  noble  quality 
in  itself  and  worthy  of  a  nobler  reason  for  being.  The 
colour  came  back  to  her  cheek  and  her  eyes  shone  —  not 
with  the  soft  light  Morland  had  seen  in  them  under  the 
chestnut  on  the  banks  of  Rock  Creek.  She  gave  her  head 
a  little  toss  and  turned  her  horse  toward  Mrs.  Calhoun's 
rapidly  disappearing  carriage. 

"I  will  race  you  back  to  Washington,  Major  Morland," 
she  called  gaily;  and  without  waiting  for  him  to  remon 
strate,  as  he  strongly  wished  to  do,  she  touched  Brown 
Bess's  sensitive  flank  smartly  with  her  whip  and  was  off 
like  the  wind  —  to  all  appearance  in  full  pursuit  of  Mrs. 
Calhoun. 

There  was  nothing  for  Morland  to  do  but  to  follow, 
though  nothing  could  have  been  more  repugnant  to  him 
than  thus  to  seem  to  be  flaunting  his  bravado  in  a  lady's 
face.  It  took  but  a  few  minutes  to  overtake  Mrs.  Cal 
houn's  carriage.  Kitty  swept  by  it,  well  in  the  lead,  her 
head  turned  pointedly  away.  Morland  followed,  and  put 
his  hand  to  his  hat,  but  his  jaws  were  set  and  his  steely 
glance  was  straight  ahead ;  it  was  an  ordeal  for  him. 

But  not  for  the  laughing  Kitty.  She  drew  rein  when 
they  were  well  out  of  sight  of  Mrs.  Calhoun,  and  waited 
for  Morland  to  come  up. 

"I  'm  resting  Brown  Bess,"  she  said  as  Morland  joined 
her  and  the  two  horses  walked  quietly  along  together, 


268  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"for  when  we  get  to  Washington  I  intend  to  race  again, 
and  see  if  we  can  horrify  any  more  Mrs.  Grundys." 

"Kitty!"  Morland  began  to  expostulate,  but  Kitty  would 
not  let  him  get  any  further. 

"It's  no  use,  sir,"  with  a  glittering  smile.  "I 'm  a 
hopeless  outcast  and  you  may  as  well  come  along  to  purga 
tory  with  me." 

"Where  thou  goest  I  will  follow,"  said  Morland  grimly, 
and  he  meant  it.  Under  Kitty  's  glittering  smile  and 
light  words  he  read  the  deadly  hurt  she  had  received,  and 
if  she  was  to  be  ostracized,  very  well,  they  should 
ostracize  him  also. 

Kitty  was  as  good  as  her  word.  Through  Washington 
streets  she  sped,  and  Brown  Bess  being  swifter  of  foot  than 
Morland's  horse  he  had  all  the  air  of  being  in  hot  pursuit, 
which  pleased  Kitty  mightily  because  she  thought  it  must 
offend  Morland's  sense  of  his  own  dignity. 

But  John  was  not  caring.  All  Washington  society 
might  think  as  they  pleased  of  him  so  long  as  they  thought 
so  badly  of  Kitty.  Only  once  did  he  wince.  As  they 
turned  off  the  Avenue  into  the  side  street  leading  to 
McCabe's,  they  passed  Montclair  sauntering  jauntily 
along.  Montclair  lifted  his  fingers  and  blew  a  kiss  to 
Kitty,  and  Kitty  flung  him  one  recklessly  back. 

"Kitty  goes  a  little  too  far  sometimes,"  John  muttered 
grimly  under  his  breath. 

Kitty  thought  so  herself  as  soon  as  it  was  done,  but  they 
were  at  her  door  in  a  moment  and  John  had  flung  his 
bridle  to  Jeff,  in  waiting,  and  sprung  to  lift  Kitty  from 
Brown  Bess. 

"I  'm  afraid  you  '11  never  want  to  go  riding  with  me 
again,"  said  Kitty  demurely,  as  he  set  her  on  her  feet,  her 


JOHN  MORLAND  269 

curling  lashes  lying  on  her  cheek  aflame  with  a  colour  not 
wholly  due  to  the  brisk  ride  and  the  keen  December  air. 

John  glanced  at  her  and  his  anger  vanished  into  thin 
mist. 

"  Oh,  Kitty,  Kitty,  why  can't  you  behave  yourself,"  he 
groaned,  and  then  smiled  fatuously  at  the  pretty  picture 
of  penitence  she  made. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   TERRIBLE    PROVOCATION 

"!V^"ORLAND  had  need  to  recall  that  hour  spent  with 
-i-*-"-  Kitty  under  the  spreading  chestnut  many  times 
in  the  weeks  that  followed.  A  more  wilful,  wayward 
Kitty  he  had  never  known  in  all  her  years  of  wilfulness 
and  waywardness.  He  despaired  sometimes  of  ever 
catching  a  glimpse  of  the  real  Kitty  as  he  still  believed 
her  to  be. 

Kitty  had  told  Montclair  she  would  never  ride  with 
him  again  until  he  brought  her  Brown  Bess  to  ride  on. 
This  was  now  a  manifest  impossibility  for  Montclair,  but 
that  fact  neither  gave  Morland  undue  hope  nor  plunged 
Montclair  into  despair.  Both  men  knew  Kitty  well 
enough  to  know  that  her  words  spoken  quickly  in  anger 
were  often  as  quickly  forgotten,  and  the  one  would 
be  a  poltroon  to  let  his  fear  of  them  govern  him  as  the 
other  would  be  a  fool  to  build  any  hopes  upon  them. 

It  was  just  a  week  later  that  John,  coming  home 
from  the  Capitol,  saw  Montclair  and  Kitty  riding  up 
toward  McCabe's  from  the  opposite  direction.  Kitty 
waved  her  hand  saucily  to  him,  but  it  was  dusk  and 
John  could  pretend  not  to  see  it,  for  he  did  not  care  to 
show  his  disapproval  and  still  less  did  he  wish  to  seem 
complaisant. 

The  lovely  Indian  summer  weather  of  a  week  ago 
had  given  place,  the  day  after  their  ride,  to  cold  and 

270 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    271 

drizzling  rains.  This  was  the  very  first  day  the  weather 
would  have  permitted  riding,  and  John  had  been  hoping, 
on  his  way  home,  that  he  would  find  that  Kitty  had 
been  out  on  Brown  Bess.  He  had  suggested  it  to  her 
when  he  had  seen  her  for  a  moment  in  the  morning,  and 
he  had  also  said  how  much  he  wished  he  could  get  away 
to  go  with  her,  but  that  it  would  be  impossible  on  account 
of  a  press  of  work.  Kitty,  in  her  unreasoning  fashion, 
had  brooded  over  this  a  little,  and  had  concluded  that 
Morland  did  not  want  to  go  with  her  —  that  she  had 
sufficiently  mortified  him  on  their  last  ride.  Kitty 
could  never  understand  how  business  or  anything  else 
in  the  world  could  keep  a  man  away  from  a  woman  he 
really  cared  to  be  with. 

She  welcomed,  therefore,  as  a  solace  to  her  sense  of 
slight,  a  note  from  Montclair  inviting  her  to  ride,  and 
promptly  dispatched  an  acceptance.  If  she  recalled 
her  speech  to  him  about  Brown  Bess,  she  decided  to 
eat  her  words  as  gracefully  as  possible,  but  very  likely 
she  did  not  remember  them.  She  was  glad  to  meet 
Morland  on  her  return  and  have  him  see  her  with  Mont 
clair  —  she  regarded  it  as  a  just  punishment  for  his 
not  having  invited  her  himself.  Nor  did  she  for  a  mo 
ment  doubt  that  he  had  seen  her  —  his  pretence  of 
blindness  only  pleased  her  as  an  evidence  of  feeling. 

The  next  day  Morland  decided  to  run  away  from 
work  for  a  couple  of  hours  if  Kitty  would  go  riding  with 
him.  But  Kitty  had  made  an  engagement  with  Mont 
clair  the  day  before,  and  she  liked  very  well  being  able 
to  say  to  him:  "You  see,  sir,  I  am  somewhat  in  de 
mand;  it  is  necessary  to  make  engagements  with  me  at 
least  twenty-four  hours  ahead." 


272  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Very  well,  Kitty,"  said  Morland,  laughing  at  her 
airs,  "will  you  ride  with  me  to-morrow?" 

Kitty  said  yes,  but  to-morrow  was  raining  again,  and 
another  week  of  drizzle  and  sleet  set  in,  prohibiting  all 
thought  of  riding. 

Morland's  luck  was  against  him.  When  the  weather 
once  more  cleared  and  he '  might  have  gone  a  press  of 
work  again  prevented.  He  had  suggested,  as  before, 
that  Kitty  take  Brown  Bess  and  Jeff,  and  Kitty  said  she 
thought  she  would.  Leaving  the  Capitol  a  little  before 
five  o'clock  to  go  to  Gadsby's  where  he  had  an  engage 
ment  to  meet  Van  Buren  for  dinner  and  further  discuss 
matters  of  importance,  in  crossing  the  street  he  ran 
square  into  Kitty  and  Montclair  riding  together,  and 
Kitty  was  riding  Brown  Bess! 

It  was  dark,  for  they  were  at  the  very  shortest  days 
of  the  year,  and  Kitty  might  not  have  recognized  Mor 
land  but  that  he  happened  to  stop  exactly  where  the 
light  from  one  of  the  smoky  lamps  of  the  Avenue  fell 
full  upon  his  face,  and  it  would  have  taken  a  more 
hardened  nature  than  Kitty's  to  meet  unabashed  that 
stern  glance,  where  astonishment,  question,  and  dis 
pleasure  spoke  as  loudly  as  words  in  the  honest  blue  eyes. 

Morland  was  deeply  displeased.  He  knew  that  he 
had  made  it  perfectly  clear  to  Kitty  that  the  condition 
of  using  Brown  Bess  referred  most  of  all  to  Montclair. 
Kitty  was  not  stupid;  she  could  not  misunderstand 
him.  Was  there  no  trusting  her?  How  was  he  to 
settle  the  matter?  Either  horn  of  the  dilemma  was 
equally  embarrassing.  If  he  prohibited  Kitty's  riding 
Brown  Bess  he  would  be  treating  her  like  a  naughty 
child  and  rendering  himself  ridiculous.  If  he  took 


JOHN  MORLAND  273 

no  notice  of  it  he  proved  that  he  had  taken  an  untenable 
position  and  was  too  weak  to  hold  it  —  which  he  said 
to  himself  was  the  exact  state  of  the  case. 

He  had  not  yet  determined  upon  his  line  of  action 
when  he  returned  to  McCabe's.  Only  one  thing  he 
had  determined  upon:  that  for  some  days,  at  least,  he 
would  see  as  little  as  possible  of  Kitty,  and  should  he 
accidentally  meet  her  his  manner  should  convey  to 
her  his  continued  displeasure. 

In  pursuance  of  this  plan  he  was  hurrying  through 
the  dining-room  to  his  own  room  when  McCabe 
stopped  him  with  a  message  from  Kitty.  She  asked 
him  to  come  to  her  mother's  parlour  for  a  few  minutes. 
It  was  not  a  request  that  he  could  refuse  if  he  wished, 
and  he  did  not  wish.  He  was  so  sure  it  meant  that  Kitty 
was  repentant  and  wanted  to  apologize,  and  he  was  so 
delighted  at  the  thought  and  so  ready  to  forgive  her,  that 
it  was  with  trembling  eagerness  he  hastened  to  obey. 

But  he  had  not  yet  learned  to  know  Kitty.  She  was 
alone  in  the  room,  by  an  arrangement  with  her  mother, 
and  she  did  not,  for  a  moment,  lift  her  eyes  as  Morland 
stood  at  the  door  making  his  bow.  He  thought  that  it 
indicated  embarrassment  and  he  would  help  her  over 
a  difficult  place. 

"Well,  Kitty,"  he  said,  gently,  "what  is  it?" 

"Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  close  the  door,  Major 
Morland?"  said  Kitty,  lifting  steely  eyes  to  Morland's, 
and  speaking  coldly. 

He  did  as  she  requested  and  stood  waiting.  His 
visions  of  a  repentant  Kitty  had  vanished  at  her  tone 
and  her  glance,  and  he  now  stood  bracing  himself  for 
what  he  was  to  meet. 


274  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Will  you  be  seated,  sir?"  said  Kitty  in  the  same  voice. 

"Thank  you,  I  prefer  standing,"  Morland  replied  in 
a  tone  that  matched  hers. 

"As  you  please,"  said  Kitty.  "I  have  asked  you 
to  come  in  here,  Major  Morland,  to  say  to  you  that  I 
refuse  ever  again  to  ride  Brown  Bess  so  long  as  she 
remains  your  property." 

She  waited  as  if  for  Morland  to  speak,  and  he  merely 
bent  his  head  and  repeated  her  words,  "As  you  please, 
Mrs.  Sutherland." 

Kitty's  next  words  were  as  hot  as  her  first  had  been  cold. 

"I  want  you  to  know,  sir,  that  I  am  not  to  be  treated 
as  a  naughty  child  if,  when  I  am  riding  your  horse,  I 
happen  by  the  merest  chance  to  meet  a  gentleman  and 
he  turns  his  horse  to  ride  a  few  blocks  with  me.  A 
pretty  figure  I  must  cut  if  I  am  compelled  to  say 
'Excuse  me,  but  Major  Morland  will  not  permit  me  to 
ride  with  you.  This  is  his  horse  and  he  allows  no  gen 
tleman  but  himself  to  ride  with  me  when  I  am  on  it.' ' 

Morland  was  struck  with  dismay.  It  could  very  easily 
have  happened  in  that  fashion,  and  Kitty  was  right;  she 
could  do  no  less  than  permit  it  without  making  both 
herself  and  him  ridiculous. 

"Was  that  the  way  it  happened,  Kitty?"  he  asked, 
anxiously. 

"Certainly!  You  must  know  me  very  little,  Major 
Morland,  if  you  could  suppose  that  I  would  designedly 
violate  your  confidence.  But  I  refuse  to  place  myself 
in  such  a  position  again  —  I  will  not  ride  Brown  Bess." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Kitty,"  said  Morland,  heartily, 
"and  I  beg  your  pardon  for  ever  putting  you  in  such  a 
predicament.  I  remove  all  conditions.  All  I  ever  meant 


JOHN  MORLAND  275 

was  that  if  Montclair  or  any  one  else  invited  you  to 
ride  he  should  bring  his  own  horses,  but  I  remove  even 
that  restriction  now.  Use  Brown  Bess  as  if  she  were  your 
own.  I  will  trust  you  not  to  use  her  in  a  way  I  would 
not  like  any  more  than  you  can  help  —  and  I  hope  you 
will  save  a  ride  for  me  occasionally." 

Kitty  had  intended  to  have  a  real  quarrel  —  there 
was  nothing  she  enjoyed  more  —  but  there  was  no 
quarrelling  with  Morland.  She  hesitated  a  moment, 
wavered,  and  was  lost.  She  was  all  dimples  and  smiles 
again. 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  said,  petulantly,  "there's  no  fun 
in  trying  to  quarrel  with  you  —  you  are  too  good.  What 
makes  you  so  good  to  me,  Major  Morland?" 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Morland's  tongue  to  say: 
"Because  I  love  you,  Kitty!"  But  he  well  knew  that  would 
end  all  his  pleasant  intercourse  with  her.  She  liked 
him  well  enough  as  an  old  friend  whom  she  could  trust 
and  who  stood  ready  to  help  her  through  every  difficulty. 
But  a  lover!  that  was  a  different  matter.  So  he  said, 
instead : 

"I  suppose  it's  a  habit  with  me,  Kitty.  Let  me 
see  —  eight  years,  is  it,  or  more,  since  I  first  took  you 
on  my  knee?" 

"And  you  can  't  get  over  the  habit  of  thinking  I  'm 
still  a  child,  can  you?"  said  Kitty,  pouting.  "It's 
your  only  fault,  Major  Morland;  do  treat  me  as  if  I  were 
grown  up." 

"Are  you?"  he  asked. 

Kitty  blushed  a  little  as  she  answered  with  unusual 
seriousness : 

"  I  'm  not  sure.     Sometimes  I  'm  afraid  I  never  will 


276  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

grow  up,  and  my  friends  will  always  have  to  be  making 
allowances  for  me.  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  I  were  different!" 

"Not  for  worlds!"  said  Morland,  laughing  at  her 
melancholy  face.  "You  wouldn't  be  Kitty  if  you 
were  not  the  most  wilful  little  rose  that  was  ever  set 
about  with  thorns.  With  all  your  faults  we  love  you 
still." 

Kitty  looked  up  with  a  tear  trembling  on  her  curly 
lashes. 

"Oh,  don't  make  fun  of  me,  Major  Morland.  I  mean 
what  I  say." 

"And  I  mean  what  I  say,  Kitty,"  he  replied,  earnestly. 
"We  all  love  you  exactly  as  you  are." 

That  tear  and  this  delicious,  melting  mood  of  Kitty's 
were  too  much  for  Morland;  he  knew  if  he  stayed  a 
minute  longer  he  could  not  keep  back  the  words  that 
were  at  this  minute  demanding  utterance  with  such 
violence  that  his  brain  was  swimming  and  his  heart 
pounding.  He  would  leave  her  while  he  was  still  him 
self.  Kitty  had  not  answered  his  last  words  —  a  faint 
smile  was  hovering  under  her  drooping  eyelids  and 
around  the  melting  curves  of  her  scarlet  lips.  To  save 
himself  Morland  spoke  brusquely: 

"I  must  be  off  —  it's  late.     Good-night,  Kitty." 

"Oh — , good-night,"  said  Kitty,  lifting  her  eyes  with  a 
little  dazed  expression  in  them  as  of  one  just  rousing 
herself  from  a  dream. 

It  was  more  than  the  fear  that  he  would  lose  all  his 
pleasant  association  with  Kitty  that  had  kept  Morland 
from  speaking.  It  seemed  sacrilege  to  him  to  violate 
the  first  year  of  her  widowhood  with  such  words.  He 
was  punctiliousness  itself  where  some  matters  were 


JOHN  MORLAND  277 

concerned,  and  this  was  one  of  them.  The  result  of  this 
evening's  experience  was  to  make  him  a  little  shy  of 
Kitty  for  a  while,  but  he  soon  discovered  a  much  more 
remarkable  thing  —  that  Kitty  was  being  shy  of  him. 
Heretofore  she  could  not  have  been  on  more  perfect 
terms  of  freedom  with  him  had  he  been  her  father,  Mor- 
land  sometimes  irritably  thought,  but  there  seemed  to 
have  come  a  subtle  change  over  all  that;  Kitty  was  occa 
sionally  constrained  in  his  presence,  sometimes  she  even 
avoided  him,  and  there  was  often  in  her  manner  a  little 
air  of  mortification  and  defiance.  It  was  as  if  she  said 
to  him:  "I  gave  you  your  chance  and  you  did  not  take 
it.  I  am  not  to  be  treated  like  an  old  glove  —  you  shall 
have  no  more  chances." 

That,  with  the  rush  of  political  duties  and  bad  weather 
for  horseback  riding,  combined  to  prevent  his  seeing 
much  of  Kitty  until  one  day  in  early  January  there  came 
a  letter  to  Morland  from  Tennessee  bearing  the  sad 
tidings  of  Rachel's  death  on  the  very  eve  of  the  great 
ball  to  be  given  in  Nashville  in  celebration  of  her  hus- 
hand's  election. 

The  letter  said  :  "You  were  coming  on  to  escort 
him  to  Washington;  come  at  once.  He  is  a  heart 
broken  man  —  he  needs  his  friends  beside  him." 

He  read  the  letter  to  Mrs.  McCabe  and  Kitty,  and 
they  wept  much.  They  had  loved  Mrs.  Jackson,  but  it 
was  for  the  broken-hearted  hero  they  wept.  No  one 
who  knew  him  could  fail  to  realize  how  desolate  his  life 
would  be  without  the  gentle  woman  he  had  loved  with 
the  whole  strength  of  his  ardent  nature. 

Morland  delayed  his  departure  only  long  enough  to 
make  a  few  necessary  preparations.  No  packet  would 


278  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

be  starting  from  Pittsburg  for  nearly  a  week;  it  would 
be  much  quicker  to  take  the  old  familiar  horseback 
ride  through  the  mountains,  and  he  would  start  that 
very  afternoon,  making  his  first  stage  only  as  far  as 
Baltimore. 

He  knew  that  Kitty  knew  all  this,  and  so  when  he 
hurried  home  early  from  the  Capitol,  hoping  for  a  few 
minutes  with  her  before  he  should  be  obliged  to  set  out, 
he  felt  a  disappointment  so  keen  as  to  be  hardly  com 
mensurate  with  the  occasion,  he  thought,  when  he  saw 
her  just  starting  off  for  a  ride  with  Montclair. 

She  was  not  riding  Brown  Bess,  nor  had  she  ever 
ridden  her  with  Montclair,  so  far  as  Morland  knew, 
since  he  had  removed  all  restrictions.  That  in  itself 
pleased  him,  though  Kitty's  light  farewell  carelessly 
flung  him  as  he  came  up  to  the  doorstep  not  only  hurt 
him,  it  angered  him,  since  Montclair  was  there  to  see  it. 

"I  suppose  you  will  be  gone  before  I  get  back,  Major 
Morland,"  she  called  to  him,  indifferently.  "Give 
my  love  to  General  Jackson." 

"Is  that  all  the  good-bye  you  have  for  me,  Kitty?" 
he  said,  coming  up  to  her  horse's  side  with  extended  hand. 
Montclair  or  not,  he  was  not  going  to  take  that  long 
ride  through  the  wintry  mountain  passes  with  no  memory 
of  even  the  touch  of  Kitty's  hand  to  take  with  him. 

"Oh,  well,"  she  said,  lightly,  as  she  put  her  hand  in 
his,  "Good-bye  and  good  luck!  And  tell  the  General 
all  the  things  I  told  you  this  morning  to  tell  him." 

He  could  not  be  sure  that  she  returned  even  slightly 
the  warm  pressure  of  his  hand  on  hers,  and  when  he 
looked  into  her  eyes  a  laughing  and  mocking  sprite 
looked  back  at  him  —  not  a  gleam  of  the  tenderness 


JOHN  MORLAND  279 

for  which  he  had  hoped.  He  let  her  hand  slip  inertly 
from  his,  nodded  to  Montclair,  turned  and  went  into  the 
house. 

How  often  he  had  taken  that  ride  in  the  last  nine 
years!  How  familiar  was  every  turn  of  the  way,  and 
how  associated  with  thoughts  of  Kitty!  Every  hill  and 
tree  and  rock,  the  swirling  waters  of  the  Kanawha  and 
the  unfolding  panorama  of  the  mountains  all  spoke  her 
name.  Rachel,  the  beloved,  was  dead  to  the  husband 
who  loved  her,  but  not  more  deaf  were  her  ears  or  colder 
her  heart  or  unresponsive  her  lips  and  her  eyes  to  the 
agonized  entreaty  of  her  husband's  love  than  were 
Kitty's  to  his  love.  Kitty  was  dead  to  him;  of  that  he 
was  almost  convinced.  They  were  farther  apart  now 
than  when  he  had  arrived  in  Washington  six  weeks 
before  —  he  would  forget  her  and  bury  his  love  as 
finally  and  as  hopelessly  as  Jackson  had  buried  the 
Rachel  he  loved. 

He  had  been  prepared  to  find  a  heart-broken  man, 
but  he  was  hardly  prepared  for  the  vindictive  wrath 
that  blazed  through  his  grief.  Jackson  believed  that 
it  was  the  lying  calumnies  of  the  campaign  that  had 
killed  his  beloved  Rachel,  and  he  never  forgave  the 
men  he  believed  had  instigated  them.  To  Morland 
he  seemed  a  broken  old  man,  twenty  years  older  than  when 
he  had  last  seen  him,  but  the  fire  of  youth  was  in  his 
haggard  eyes  as  he  threw  his  arm  around  John's 
shoulders  and  said  affectionately: 

"It  was  like  you  to  come  to  me  at  once,  my  boy,  and 
now  you  must  stand  by  me  every  step  of  the  way.  I 
shall  never  rest  until  I  have  had  my  revenge  on  those 
villains  who  hounded  my  Rachel  to  her  death." 


280  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Morland  had  arrived  at  his  own  plantation  late  Satur 
day  night,  and  early  Sunday  morning  he  had  ridden 
over  to  the  Hermitage  fifteen  miles  away.  Jackson 
had  taken  him  at  once  to  Rachel's  grave  in  a  corner 
of  the  Hermitage  grounds,  and  it  was  beside  her  grave 
that  he  had  uttered  his  vindictive  words.  They  sounded 
like  sacrilege  to  Morland  in  such  a  spot,  but  he  knew 
that  it  was  the  rugged  old  hero's  nature  to  flame  with 
resentment  at  the  thought  of  a  wrong  to  the  gentle 
Rachel,  and  it  was,  perhaps,  also  an  outlet  for  the  grief 
that  else  might  overwhelm  him. 

He  found  that  he  had  arrived  barely  in  time.  Jackson 
was  going  to  Washington  earlier  than  was  at  first  in 
tended.  Since  the  Hermitage  was  now  so  lonely  his 
friends  thought  it  well  to  get  him  away  from  it  as  soon 
as  possible.  That  very  afternoon  the  President-elect's 
party  boarded  the  steamer  that  was  to  carry  them  down 
the  Cumberland  to  the  Ohio  and  up  the  Ohio  to  Pitts- 
burg  —  a  longer  journey  than  it  would  be  to-day,  and 
the  whole  length  of  it  one  great  ovation.  Every  hamlet 
and  village  and  city  poured  out  its  throngs  to  greet  the 
conquering  hero,  and  even  every  farmhouse  and  plan 
tation  had  its  piccaninny  on  watch  to  give  tidings  of 
the  approach  of  the  steamer  and  to  salute  it  with  waving 
flags  and  shouts  of  adulation  from  every  human  being 
on  the  place  gathered  on  the  river's  bank. 

All  this  pleased  Jackson  greatly,  and  he  showed  his 
pleasure  with  the  naivete  of  a  great  man  and  an  un 
usually  simple  and  childlike  one. 

"I  believe  the  people  love  me,  John,"  he  said,  as  they 
stood  upon  the  deck  together  while  the  boat  steamed 
out  from  Cincinnati,  where  the  whole  State  of  Ohio 


JOHN  MORLAND  281 

seemed  to  have  poured  down  to  the  wharves  en  masse 
to  cheer  him  on  his  way,  "  and  I  go  to  Washington  with 
one  single  aim:  to  administer  the  government,  as  far 
as  in  me  lies,  purely  and  solely  for  the  people's  best 
interests." 

Morland  came  back  to  Washington  determined  to 
think  as  little  as  possible  of  Kitty,  and  the  tremendous 
vortex  of  political  duties  and  interests  into  which  Jackson 
and  his  friends  were  immediately  plunged  helped  him 
not  a  little  to  keep  the  resolution.  All  America  seemed 
following  in  the  wake  of  the  conqueror.  A  great  tide 
had  set  in  toward  Washington  from  every  point  of  the 
compass  the  moment  it  was  known  he  was  on  his  way 
there;  a  large  majority,  no  doubt,  with  the  simple  pur 
pose  of  being  on  hand  to  swell  the  triumph  of  their  idol, 
but  hordes  of  them,  also,  vultures  eager  for  the  spoils 
of  the  fray.  Jackson's  friends  must  never  be  absent 
from  him  if  they  would  save  him  from  becoming  a 
victim  to  his  own  easy  good-nature  and  the  cunning 
of  the  politicians.  One  or  the  other  of  them  was  always 
on  guard,  and  John's  sentinel  hours  took  much  of  his 
time;  there  was  little  left  for  his  own  thoughts  or  his 
own  affairs.  But  it  was  a  still  greater  help  to  him  in 
sticking  to  his  resolution  to  think  little  of  Kitty  that 
she  seemed  to  be  thinking  little  or  nothing  at  all  of  him 
these  days.  She  had  greeted  his  return  as  carelessly 
as  she  had  received  his  farewell,  though  with  the  rest 
of  Washington  she  was  gone  quite  wild  with  excitement 
over  the  arrival  of  Jackson. 

It  was  two  weeks  after  his  return.  He  was  sitting 
in  one  of  the  hotels  waiting  impatiently  for  the  appear 
ance  of  Major  Lewis,  who  had  promised  to  meet  him 


282  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

there  and  discuss,  over  a  glass  of  wine,  one  paragraph 
in  Jackson's  inaugural  address  which  pleased  neither 
of  them  and  which  they  hoped  to  persuade  him  to 
change.  Morland  had  taken  possession  of  a  small 
table  in  a  corner  near  a  window  which  had  the  double 
advantage  of  commanding  all  the  arrivals  at  the  hotel 
and  of  being  also  sufficiently  at  a  distance  from  the 
other  tables  to  make  any  conversation  carried  on  in  a 
reasonably  low  tone  inaudible.  He  was  employing 
his  interval  of  waiting  by  reading  the  United  States 
Telegraph,  enjoying  Duff  Green's  racy  editorials  and 
laughing  quietly  to  himself  over  some  of  them.  But  a 
little  paragraph  which  seemed  to  be  a  veiled  intimation 
that  a  seat  in  the  cabinet  was  to  be  offered  to  him  made 
him  drop  his  paper  and  give  himself  up  for  a  while  to 
the  luxury  of  day-dreams. 

It  was  what  he  had  long  ardently  coveted,  but  had 
rarely  allowed  himself  to  think  of.  Ambition  could 
vault  no  higher  than  to  a  cabinet  seat  while  still  under 
forty.  He  had  had  hints  from  other  quarters  that  he 
might  receive  the  appointment,  but  he  had  desired  it 
too  intensely  to  allow  himself  to  count  much  on  these 
vague  promises.  He  knew  that  without  doubt  one  of 
the  cabinet  places  would  go  to  Tennessee,  and  that  no 
other  man  in  the  state  had  rendered  such  signal  service 
in  the  campaign  as  he.  He  knew,  too,  that  Jackson 
loved  him,  and  relied  on  him  with  something  of  the  trust 
of  a  father  in  a  son,  but  he  believed  there  were  other 
men  in  the  state  older  than  he,  and  with  other  qualifi 
cations,  to  whom  Jackson  must  necessarily  give  the 
precedence  when  it  came  to  the  offer  of  a  portfolio. 
But  there  was  no  harm  in  a  little  castle-building  and 


JOHN  MORLAND  283 

no  better  use  to  which  he  could  put  these  few  minutes 
of  waiting.     He  gave  himself  up  to  the  luxury. 

Through  the  window,  where  he  glanced  from  time  to 
time  to  see  whether  Major  Lewis  was  coming,  he  now 
saw  Montclair  and  two  friends  alight  from  their  horses, 
throw  their  bridles  to  black  boys  in  waiting,  and  run 
up  the  steps  talking  and  laughing  loudly.  He  believed 
from  their  manner  that  they  had  been  drinking,  and 
that  they  were  probably  only  stopping  for  more  drinks. 
He  hoped  they  were  going  to  the  bar  and  would  not 
come  in  to  the  cafe  where  he  was  sitting,  for  the  mere 
proximity  of  Montclair  was  intensely  disagreeable  to  him. 
A  moment  later  he  heard  their  noisy  entrance,  and  he 
buried  himself  in  his  paper,  trusting  to  be  unobserved, 

Montclair  did  not  see  him,  and  his  two  friends  did 
not  know  him,  or  probably  neither  of  the  three  would 
have  chosen  the  table  nearest  Morland,  where  Montclair 
sat  down  with  his  back  to  Morland,  the  other  two  men 
facing  him.  Montclair  ordered  the  drinks  —  it  was 
evident  they  were  out-of-town  men  he  was  entertaining 
—  and  for  a  few  minutes  they  were  sufficiently  quiet  to 
permit  Morland  to  go  on  with  his  reading  undisturbed. 
Then  he  heard  Montclair's  voice,  raised  above  the 
ordinary  conversational  pitch: 

"Here's  to  the  fair  Kitty!" 

"Who  's  Kitty?"  one  of  the  men  asked  as  both  lifted 
their  glasses  to  touch  Montclair's.  But  the  other  gave 
Montclair  no  chance  to  answer. 

"Oh,  I  know  —  I  've  seen  her  and  I  've  heard  of  her. 
She  's  the  charming  Widow  Sutherland  the  whole 
town  's  talking  about;  but  I  thought  she  belonged  to 
Senator  Morland." 


284  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"People  think  so,"  said  Montclair,  with  a  conscious 
simper,  "but  people  don't  always  know.  He  com 
promised  her  so  thoroughly  when  her  husband  was 
alive  that  most  people  think  that  was  the  cause  of  his 
suicide,  though,  of  course,  another  cause  was  assigned, 
and  the  charming  widow  naturally  avoids  him  now. 
She  does  not  want  — 

But  Montclair  got  no  further.  The  whole  conversa 
tion  had  consumed  not  quite  a  minute,  and  it  had  taken 
that  time  for  Morland  to  recover  from  the  daze  into 
which  the  first  mention  of  Kitty's  name  had  plunged 
him.  But  Montclair's  speech  had  effectually  roused 
him  and  the  two  men  facing  him  saw  the  distinguished- 
looking  man  they  had  both  observed  spring  from  his 
seat  and  advance  toward  them  with  flaming  eyes.  It 
was  the  expression  in  his  friends'  faces  that  stopped 
Montclair's  speech  and  made  him  half  turn  in  his  chair 
to  see  what  was  happening  behind  him  that  could  account 
for  it.  At  sight  of  Morland  he  visibly  quailed  for  a 
moment,  but  he  had  been  drinking  heavily  and  he  had 
a  reputation  to  sustain  with  his  two  out-of-town  friends; 
he  summoned  what  courage  he  could  to  his  aid  and 
determined  to  brave  it  out. 

The  room  was  beginning  to  fill  up,  and  those  entering 
and  those  seated,  as  well  as  the  coloured  waiters  in  the 
room,  all  turned  curiously  to  Montclair's  table  and  the 
excited  group  surrounding  it.  Morland  was  keenly 
aware  of  their  curious  glances  and  painfully  anxious  that 
there  should  be  no  further  breath  of  Kitty's  name.  He 
bent  slightly  down  toward  Montclair,  therefore,  and 
spoke  in  a  low  tone  of  concentrated  wrath: 

"You  will  never  dare  mention  that  name  in  public 


JOHN  MORLAND  285 

again,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Montclair,  and  you  will  retract 
at  once  every  lying  word  you  have  just  uttered  to  these 
gentlemen." 

Montclair's  face  was  a  deep  purple. 

"Been  eavesdropping?"  he  sneered. 

It  took  every  atom  of  self-restraint  he  possessed  and 
the  thought  of  Kitty  as  well  to  keep  Morland  from 
striking  him  on  his  evil  mouth. 

"Consider  your  face  slapped,  sir,"  he  said,  in  a  still 
lower  tone  of  yet  more  concentrated  fury,  "and  if  you 
will  send  one  of  your  friends  to  my  rooms  an  hour  from 
now  I  will  have  a  friend  there  who  will  arrange  matters 
with  him." 

He  waited  for  no  reply  from  Montclair,  but  turned 
quickly  and  left  the  room  carrying  his  head  high  and 
his  thoughts  in  too  much  of  a  turmoil  to  even  remember 
his  engagement  with  Lewis. 


287 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   WOOING   OF   KITTY 

IT  WAS  a  ten-minutes'  walk  to  Morland's  rooms  at 
McCabe's,  a  ten  minutes  in  which  was  condensed 
the  thinking,  reasoning,  planning,  deciding  of  an  ordi 
nary  man's  lifetime.  The  thinking  was  hard,  troubled, 
tumultuous;  the  reasoning  keen  and  lightning-like;  the 
planning  swift  and  masterly;  the  decision  for  all  time. 

He  compromise  Kitty!  God  forbid!  This,  then, 
was  why  she  had  avoided  him  of  late.  She  had  heard 
lying  rumours  and  would  save  him  as  well  as  herself. 
They  were  lies,  of  course,  and  had  emanated  without  a 
doubt  from  that  arch-liar,  Montclair.  And  then  there 
flashed  into  his  mind  Mrs.  Decatur's  hint  to  him  last 
spring;  her  cool  aloofness  when  he  had  chanced  to  meet 
her  this  fall;  Mrs.  Calhoun's  pointed  coldness  to  both 
him  and  Kitty  when  she  had  met  them  riding  together. 
This  was  what  they  were  saying,  was  it  ?  —  that  Sutherland 
had  killed  himself  because  of  his  relations  with  Kitty! 
No;  it  was  unbelievable!  Men  and  women  could  not  be 
so  vile  —  they  could  not  have  hearts  in  their  bosoms 
and  be  so  cruel! 

Well,  there  was  but  one  course  left  to  them.  Kitty 
must  marry  him,  and  marry  him  at  once.  She  did  not 
love  him,  and  she  might  easily  refuse  to  marry  him, 
but  she  must  be  made  to  see  that  it  was  the  only  thing 
left  for  her  to  do.  Moreover,  it  must  be  done  at  once. 

289 


290  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

She  must  bear  his  name  before^  he  went  out  to  meet 
Montclair,  so  that  whatever  the  issue  she  would  be 
vindicated. 

And  then  there  rushed  over  him  all  the  horror  and 
loathing  with  which  he  had  always  regarded  duelling; 
and  with  a  man  like  Montclair  for  whom  a  horse 
whipping  would  be  too  good !  He  had  heretofore  insisted 
there  was  no  manliness  in  settling  a  quarrel  with  pistols 
—  he  who  by  chance  pulled  the  trigger  first  was  the 
murderer  and  the  other  the  innocent  victim,  when,  in 
truth,  both  were  equally  guilty.  Swords  might  be  a 
little  better  —  there  was  some  chance  for  skill,  at  least, 
in  their  use  —  but  Montclair  was  not  going  to  choose 
swords,  and  if  he  should  it  left  unchanged  the  moral 
question  involved.  Every  instinct  and  every  cherished 
principle  rose  up  in  revolt  against  his  resorting  to  the 
duel  when  he  had  so  long  been  loudest  in  its  condemna 
tion. 

Through  all  the  tumult  of  his  thoughts  he  was  also 
swiftly  planning.  Jeff  must  be  despatched  immediately 
in  search  of  a  friend  to  act  as  his  second,  and  there  were 
not  many  friends  of  his  whom  he  would  like  to  call  on 
for  such  an  office.  He  ran  over  the  list  in  his  mind,  and 
decided  finally  on  John  Randolph.  He  could  trust 
both  his  knowledge  of  such  affairs  and  his  discretion, 
and  more  than  that  he  could  trust  him  to  understand 
how  he  had  become  involved  in  a  transaction  of  a  kind  he 
detested.  Randolph  once  found  —  he  did  not  fear  his 
refusal  to  act  —  and  the  preliminaries  arranged  with 
Montclair 's  second,  he  would  seek  Kitty.  He  would 
explain  to  her  the  absolute  necessity  of  marrying  him 
and  at  once,  and  her  consent  gained  he  would  send  for 


JOHN  MORLAND  291 

a  clerygman  and  have  the  ceremony  performed  in  Mrs. 
McCabe's  parlour  with  only  Tim  and  his  wife  present. 

Having  reached  this  point  in  his  planning  he  stopped 
once  more,  chilled  to  the  heart.  What  a  different 
wooing  was  this  from  the  one  that  for  months  had  hovered 
in  the  background  of  his  thoughts.  He  had  only  been 
waiting  for  that  year  of  widowhood  to  be  over  when  he 
should  begin  in  earnest  to  win  her,  with  no  art  and  no 
effort  left  untried.  He  wanted  no  unwilling  bride,  but 
this  was  now  his  doom;  and  the  event  that  under  other 
circumstances  would  have  made  him  deliriously  happy, 
new  filled  him  with  shuddering  distaste  in  its  contem 
plation. 

His  brain,  a  whirling  maelstrom  of  such  thoughts,  he 
was  hurrying  blindly  through  the  dining-room  of 
McCabe's  toward  his  own  room  when  Tim  called  him: 

"  Here  is  a  letter  for  you,  Major  Morland,"  said  Tim. 
with  even  more  than  his  usual  deference,  as  he  handed 
Morland  a  sealed  envelope.  "It  was  left  for  you  by  one 
of  General  Jackson's  servants." 

"Oh!"  said  Morland  taking  the  letter  with  a  half- 
bewildered  look,  for  he  could  not  readily  rouse  himself 
from  his  thoughts.  He  recognized  the  writing,  and 
at  any  other  time  he  would  have  felt  a  thrill  of  expec 
tancy,  for  it  must  be  something  very  formal  indeed  that 
Jackson  would  communicate  to  him  in  writing.  "Will 
you  send  Jeff  to  me  at  once,  Mr.  McCabe?"  he  said 
as  he  turned  to  go  to  his  room.  He  closed  his  own  door 
behind  him,  drew  up  a  chair  before  a  blazing  fire  of 
hickory  logs  and,  sitting  down  in  it,  mechanically  opened 
his  letter. 

There  in  his  hands  lay  the  much-coveted  gift  —  Jack- 


292  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

son  offered  him,  formally,  a  seat  in  his  cabinet.  He 
looked  at  it  long  with  a  dull  feeling  of  anger.  Fate 
was  mocking  him.  What  was  a  seat  in  the  cabinet  to 
him  now!  His  darling  ambition  accomplished  had 
turned  to  Dead  Sea  fruit  in  his  hands.  He  was  to 
marry  Kitty,  and  if  Jackson  was  as  familiar  with  all 
these  lying  scandals  as  every  one  else  seemed  to  be, 
then  Jackson  would  very  properly  feel  that  he  must 
withdraw  his  offer  from  Kitty's  husband.  Well,  what 
mattered  it  —  Kitty  was  innocent,  and  Kitty  must  be 
saved  at  all  hazards. 

But  here  was  another  complication  in  his  plans.  This 
was  not  a  communication  whose  answer  could  be  de 
ferred  until  his  private  affairs  were  attended  to.  It 
must  take  precedence  of  everything  —  the  duel,  his 
marriage  to  Kitty  (for  not  one  moment  did  he  doubt 
its  accomplishment),  would  both  have  to  wait  until  he 
had  made  that  call  on  General  Jackson  which  etiquette 
demanded  he  should  make  in  declining  the  honour  con 
ferred  upon  him. 

Jeff's  entrance  roused  him.  He  wrote  a  hurried  note 
to  Randolph  and  despatched  Jeff  with  it,  and  then, 
realizing  that  there  were  but  a  few  minutes  that  he 
could  call  his  own  before  the  probable  arrival  of  Randolph 
and  the  later  arrival  of  Montclair's  second,  he  set  himself 
feverishly  to  work  on  the  necessary  matters  of  business 
that  must  be  arranged  in  case  of  a  fatal  issue  to  the 
duel.  There  was  not  much  that  needed  attention  — 
he  was  a  methodical  man  in  business  —  but  there  was 
a  will  to  be  destroyed  and  a  new  one  written.  The 
new  one  was  very  brief,  and,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  legacies,  left  everything  to  Kitty  —  "whether  in  the 


JOHN  MORLAND  293 

providence  of  God  she  may  be  the  widow  Sutherland 
or  Mistress  Morland." 

He  was  writing  the  last  words  of  it  when  Randolph 
entered. 

"It  was  good  of  you  to  come  so  quickly,  Mr.  Ran 
dolph,"  said  Morland,  rising  to  greet  him. 

"You  could  not  expect  me  to  disregard  such  a  sum 
mons,"  Randolph  answered  as  the  two  men  clasped 
hands,  "but  I  'm  sorry  you  ever  let  yourself  get  into 
such  an  affair  with  such  a  fellow  as  Montclair.  I  can't 
yet  believe  it  will  proceed  to  an  issue  —  the  coxcomb  's 
a  coward." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Morland,  "and  he  will  wriggle 
out  of  it  if  possible,  and  with  all  my  heart  I  hope  he 
will.  I  do  not  believe  in  duels,  and  I  have  no  stomach 
for  one  with  a  man  I  despise  as  I  do  him.  I  would 
prefer  a  more  honourable  exit  from  this  world." 

But  if  they  counted  on  Montclair's  cowardice  it 
played  them  a  trick  this  time.  He  was  too  great  a  coward 
to  decline  to  meet  Morland  when  the  challenge  had 
been  given  in  the  presence  of  the  two  fiery  young  Vir 
ginians  who  did  not  for  a  moment  dream  of  his  declining 
it.  They  did  not  know  Morland  —  they  believed  the 
tales  of  him  were  true;  nor  did  they  know  Montclair 
sufficiently  well  to  know  the  vileness  that  dwelt  beneath 
a  polished  exterior.  Randolph  and  Morland  were  still 
talking  over  the  arrangements  when  Montclair's  second 
appeared,  and  Morland  only  waited,  before  withdrawing 
to  his  bedroom,  to  request  the  signatures  of  the  two 
seconds  as  witnesses  to  his  will. 

Alone  in  his  bedroom  he  paced  the  floor  restlessly. 
There  was  so  much  to  be  done  in  the  few  remaining 


294  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

hours  of  the  day,  he  was  impatient  to  be  doing  it.  Only 
one  stipulation  he  had  made  with  Randolph  —  the 
duel  must  not  come  off  before  the  next  morning.  The 
hours  of  this  day  had  other  duties  assigned  them.  The 
arrangements  were  simple,  and  less  time  was  consumed 
in  making  them  than  Morland  could  have  reasonably 
hoped;  nor,  once  made  and  Montclair's  second  de 
parted,  did  Randolph  detain  him  long  with  a  report 
of  them.  It  was  hardly  more  than  a  year  since  Ran 
dolph's  duel  with  Clay,  and  he  did  not  forget  that  in 
such  an  hour  every  minute  of  a  man's  time  is  precious. 

It  was  half  an  hour  later  that  Morland  walked  into 
Jackson's  room  at  the  hotel.  Jackson's  room  was 
apt  to  be  thronged,  but  Morland  had  written  on 
his  card:  "May  I  see  you  alone  for  a  moment?" 
and  supposing,  of  course,  that  he  had  come  to  thank 
him  for  his  cabinet  place,  and  not  caring  yet  to  have 
his  cabinet  list  made  public,  Jackson  cleared  his  room 
at  once. 

The  old  General's  face  was  radiant  as  John  entered 
the  room.  He  was  happier  in  the  being  able  to  give 
his  young  friend  —  as  dear  to  him  as  a  son  —  this 
greatly  coveted  honour  than  Morland  would  have  been 
in  receiving  it  if  he  had  been  able  to  accept  it.  At 
sight  of  Morland's  face  his  own  fell. 

"What  is  it,  John?"  he  asked,  anxiously. 

John  saw  the  sudden  darkening  of  Jackson's  ex 
pressive  face  and  felt  almost  more  keenly  the  disappoint 
ment  he  was  about  to  occasion  than  he  had  felt  his  own 
most  poignant  one. 

"I  cannot  accept  it,"  he  said,  briefly. 


JOHN  MORLAND  295 

"Why?"  came  with  a  harsh  clip,  and  the  heavy  brows 
began  to  beetle  ominously  over  the  flashing  eyes. 

"Because  I  am  going  to  marry  the  widow  Sutherland." 

"Kitty?" 

"Yes." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

"You  have  heard,  I  suppose,  the  lying  scandals  about 
her?"  said  John,  trying  to  speak  steadily. 

"  I  don't  know.  There  has  always  been  more  or  less 
talk  about  Kitty,"  said  Jackson  somewhat  mollified. 
"Is  it  anything  new?" 

"I  had  not  heard  until  to-day,"  said  John,  still  trying 
to  speak  composedly,  "that  it  was  I  who  had  compro 
mised  her  —  that  I  was  responsible  for  Sutherland's 
suicide." 

"My  God,  John!     Do  the  scoundrels  say  that?" 

Jackson  stopped  abruptly  in  his  hasty  pacing  up 
and  down  the  room  which  he  had  begun  at  Morland's 
first  words,  his  face  an  almost  ludicrous  mingling  of 
expressions  —  tenderness  and  anxiety  for  John  strug 
gling  with  wrath  and  scorn  of  John's  traducers. 

Morland's  reply  was  a  mere  bend  of  the  head  —  he 
could  not  trust  himself  to  speak. 

"If  they  are  saying  that"  Jackson  went  on  with 
towering  indignation,  "then  the  only  course  left  to  you 
is  to  marry  Kitty  at  once  and  call  out  every  blackguard 
that  has  said  it  and  make  him  eat  his  words.  WThen 
those  two  duties  are  performed  I  will  be  proud  to  wel 
come  you  to  my  cabinet.  I  am  not  sure,  now,  that 
you  would  be  welcome  without  Kitty." 

Morland  was  in  no  mood  for  smiling,  but  he  needs 
must,  a  little,  at  these  characteristic  words  of  the  irate 


296  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

General.  The  smile  had  a  twist  in  it,  however,  for  was 
he  not  going  to  follow  out  Jackson's  recommendations 
to  the  letter?  —  he  who  had  so  often  deplored  his  chief's 
ready  resort  to  the  pistol  for  settling  his  quarrels.  More 
over,  he  still  believed  that  if  such  a  scandal  was  in 
common  circulation  about  Washington,  it  would  be 
unwise  to  introduce  into  the  new  cabinet  a  member 
whose  social  history  could  be  called  in  question  by  any 
lying  scoundrel;  it  would  be  a  vulnerable  point,  he 
foresaw,  for  the  shafts  of  the  enemies  of  the  administration. 
But  there  was  no  resisting  the  rugged  old  soldier. 
Morland  had  gone  to  him  with  the  simple  idea  of  de 
clining  the  offered  honour;  he  found  there  was  no 
leaving  him  until  he  had  given  a  reluctant  consent  to 
accepting  it. 

On  leaving  McCabe's  for  this  interview  with  Jackson 
he  had  stopped  a  moment  at  Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour 
to  speak  with  Kitty.  Kitty  was  there,  with  her  mother 
and  Janet,  and  the  first  brief  salutations  over,  he  delivered 
his  message  at  once. 

"Kitty,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "I  have  an  important 
errand  to  General  Jackson,  but  I  will  be  back  in  half 
an  hour;  will  you  go  to  walk  with  me,  then?" 

Kitty's  mother  looked  up  at  him  curiously.  She 
never  remembered  Major  Morland  to  have  given  an 
invitation  of  any  kind  with  so  little  conciliatory  grace 
—  it  sounded  more  like  a  demand  than  a  request.  She 
hardly  wondered  at  the  hesitation  and  evasion  of  Kitty's 
reply: 

"I'm  not  sure  —  I  can't  tell.  Janet  doesn't  seem 
very  well  this  afternoon," 


JOHN  MORLAND  297 

"She  doesn't  want  to  go  with  me  —  she  is  trying  to 
shun  me  as  she  has  shunned  me  ever  since  my  return," 
said  Morland  to  himself  bitterly.  Nevertheless  it  was 
not  a  matter  he  could  easily  give  up.  Kitty  must  be 
compelled  to  take  that  walk  with  him  or  he  must  blurt 
out  his  proposal  here,  in  the  presence  of  Kitty's  mother 
and  baby  and  the  nurse  Emmeline. 

"It 's  very  important,  Kitty  —  will  you  go?"  he  said, 
with  more  gentleness  than  he  had  used  at  first. 

"Oh,  won't  some  other  afternoon  do  as  well?"  said 
Kitty,  impatiently. 

"No!" 

It  was  rather  a  thundering  "no"  for  Morland,  and 
half  frightened  Kitty.  It  half  frightened  Mrs.  McCabe, 
also,  and  she  hastened  to  interpose: 

"Janet  will  be  all  right,  Kitty,  if  you  want  to  go; 
Emmeline  and  I  will  look  after  her." 

"Oh,  very  well,  then,  I  will  go,  Major  Morland,"  said 
Kitty,  ungraciously,  and  was  a  little  awed  again  by  his 
stern  way  of  replying: 

"Very  well,  Kitty.  Be  ready,  please,  when  I  return 
in  half  an  hour." 

He  had  found  her  quite  ready  on  his  return  from  his 
interview  with  Jackson,  looking  like  the  nineteen-year- 
old-girl  that  had  bewitched  Lieutenant  Sutherland 
on  that  fateful  walk  down  the  Avenue  from  Miss  Eng 
lish's  school  to  McCabe's  on  that  other  February  six 
years  before  —  the  same  little  fur  cap  set  coquettishly 
on  her  chestnut  curls,  a  soft,  dark  tippet  about  her  white 
throat,  and  carrying  a  huge  muff. 

Morland  led  the  way  at  once  toward  that  very  spot 
on  Rock  Creek  where  a  few  weeks  before  he  had  seen 


298  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Kitty  in  the  most  delightful  mood  he  had  ever  known  her 
in.  This  was  to  be  a  grim  wooing  —  very  likely  a  hard- 
fought  battle  —  but  he  would  not  deny  himself  some 
of  the  accessories  befitting  more  ordinary  wooings  and 
which  he  believed,  also,  might  be  a  help  to  him  in  the 
coming  contest;  to  say  nothing  of  its  being  a  spot  where 
on  a  winter's  day  they  might  reasonably  hope  to  be  safe 
from  all  intrusion. 

They  walked  swiftly  and  silently.  Morland  had  no 
small  talk  at  his  command;  he  was  mentally  marshalling 
his  forces  for  the  coming  attack,  and  Kitty's  ready  flow 
of  gay  chatter  was  for  once  stemmed  —  pent  up  —  by 
Morland's  manner,  which  she  could  not  understand, 
and  which  reduced  her  to  a  helpless  condition  very 
unusual  with  her,  and  in  which  awe  was  the  predomina 
ting  sensation. 

She  was  not,  however,  so  entirely  oblivious  to  her 
surroundings  as  was  Morland,  and  once,  when  two 
women  passed  them  and  then  turned  and  looked  curiously 
after  them,  Kitty  was  quite  sure  they  were  wondering 
for  what  offense  such  a  fine  lady  was  being  hurried  off 
to  jail  by  the  sheriff.  But  they  were  walking  through 
back  streets  and  by-lanes  and  they  did  not  meet  many 
people,  and  Kitty  was  in  a  mood  to  care  almost  as  little  for 
the  curious  surmises  of  those  they  did  meet  as  Morland. 

The  day  was  a  clear,  frosty  one,  cold  enough  to  harden 
the  ground  under  their  feet  and  to  make  Kitty's  eyes 
sparkle  and  her  cheeks  glow,  but  not  cold  enough  to 
occasion  them  any  discomfort  on  their  wintry  walk. 
John  found  the  very  heap  of  leaves  under  the  spreading 
chestnut  on  which  Kitty  had  sat  before,  and  taking  off 
from  his  great-coat  the  cape,  which  he  did  not  always 


JOHN  MORLAND  299 

wear,  but  had  worn  to-day  for  this  purpose,  he  spread 
it  over  the  leaves. 

"Will  you  sit  down,  Kitty?" 

Kitty  obeyed  silently,  and  then  looked  up  at  him 
questioningly. 

"Are  you  not  going  to  sit  down,  too?" 

"I  believe  not,  just  now.  I  have  something  very 
serious  to  say,  and  I  believe  I  can  say  it  better  standing." 

He  waited  for  a  moment,  but  his  speech  had  required 
no  answer,  and  Kitty  made  none.  Perhaps  she  knew 
what  was  coming,  but  she  wras  not  going  to  help  him 
out  in  it,  though  her  heart  under  her  pelisse  was  begin 
ning  to  flutter  and  throb.  Morland  was  not  waiting 
for  her  answer,  however;  he  was  waiting  for  his  own 
resolution.  He  summoned  it,  finally,  and  went  on, 
but  the  effort  required  made  him  seem  harsh  and  cold. 

"It  seems,"  he  said,  formally,  "that  I  have  been  very 
imprudent;  that  with  the  most  innocent  intentions  in 
the  world  I  have  sullied  the  good  name  of  a  lady  whose 
honour  and  fair  fame  are  most  dear  to  me.  There  is 
but  one  way  in  which  to  prove  the  liars  false  and  to 
assert  your  innocence  and  my  honour  —  will  you  accept 
it,  Kitty?" 

This  was  no  coy  and  blushing  maiden  listening  to  a 
lover's  vows.  In  Kitty's  eyes  were  points  of  glowing 
steel,  and  in  her  cheeks  flamed  the  red  ensign  of  anger. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  Major  Morland,"  she 
said,  coldly. 

"Will  you  marry  me,  Kitty?" 

"No!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  you  do  not  love  me.      Because  you  do  not 


300  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

care  whether  or  not  I  love  you.  Because  you  only  ask 
me  since  you  feel  you  must." 

"You  are  wrong  on  every  count,  Kitty.  But  if  you 
were  right  in  them  all,  the  conditions  wrould  remain  the 
same — you  must  marry  me." 

"I  acknowledge  no  such  alternative  as  compulsion 
in  such  a  matter,"  said  Kitty. 

"If  I  were  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you  very  truly  and 
tenderly,  Kitty;  that  to  call  you  wife  would  be  the 
crowning  honour  and  joy  of  my  life,  would  you  marry 
me,  then?" 

"No,  for  I  would  not  believe  it." 

"It  is  true,  Kitty." 

"And  if  it  is  true,  I  am  not  going  to  bring  dishonour 
on  an  honoured  name;  I  am  not  going  to  bring  ruin  and 
disgrace  to  a  brilliant  career." 

"  No,  you  are  not  going  to  do  that,  because  you  cannot. 
You  are  going  to  add  lustre  to  my  career  and  honour  to 
my  name.  Will  you  marry  me?" 

But  he  had  begun  wrong  and  Kitty  was  obdurate. 
The  more  he  reasoned  with  her  the  more  obstinate  she 
grew,  and  the  more  convinced  Morland  became  that  she 
not  only  did  not  love  him,  but  did  love  some  one  else. 
It  was  Montclair,  he  knew.  But  very  well  he  knew, 
also,  that  Montclair  would  never  marry  a  woman  of  whom 
he  had  spoken  as  he  had  spoken  of  Kitty  to  the  Vir 
ginians.  Nor  did  he  believe  he  would  marry  any  woman 
who  had  not  more  money  to  bring  with  her  than  had 
Kitty.  Poor,  and  encumbered  with  a  child,  Morland 
knew  very  well  there  was  no  hope  of  Montclair's  ever 
marrying  her.  If  Montclair  married  any  one  it  would 
be  Miss  Dayton.  There  had  been  for  years  some 


JOHN  MORLAND  301 

secret  understanding  between  those  two,  and  Miss 
Dayton  was  a  rich  woman  in  her  own  right. 

Added  to  his  own  deep  and  ardent  love  for  her,  there 
fore,  was  a  tender  pity  for  Kitty  that  she  should  love  not 
only  unworthily  but  in  vain.  He  wondered  for  a  moment 
what  argument  he  could  find  that  would  prove  effective 
in  the  face  of  this  new  obstacle.  It  had  to  be  found  — 
he  was  not  discouraged,  but  all  the  more  determined 
that  she  must  marry  him  since  he  was  convinced  that 
she  loved  Montclair.  Then  he  remembered  what  he 
had  always  believed  true  of  Kitty  —  she  was  romantically 
generous;  and  the  way  to  convert  her  reason  was  to 
appeal  to  her  generosity.  He  was  a  proud  man,  and  his 
pride  revolted  against  so  degrading  himself  before  Kitty, 
but  no  means  could  be  left  untried  to  accomplish  his 
purpose  —  for  Kitty's  sake. 

"Kitty,"  he  began,  a  deep  flush  of  shame  reddening 
his  very  temples,  "you  see  before  you  a  ruined  man. 
You  had  it  in  your  power  to  save  him  from  disgrace 
and  ruin,  but  you  refused.  The  world  believes  that  I 
have  very  seriously  compromised  you;  the  world  will 
believe  that  I  refuse  to  make  you  the  only  reparation 
possible  in  such  a  case;  the  world  will  rightly  despise  and 
scorn  me  as  a  man  destitute  of  all  sense  and  honour.  I 
have  had  ambitious  dreams;  a  career  seemed  opening 
before  me  that  offered  me  every  prize  I  most  dearly 
coveted;  I  must  renounce  it  all  since  you  refuse  to 
marry  me.  I  have  helped  to  elevate  Jackson  to  the 
Presidential  chair,  but  I  will  not  wait  to  see  him  take 
his  seat  in  it.  I  will  return  to  my  plantation  at  once 
and  spend  there  the  remainder  of  my  days  in  the  ob 
scurity  befitting  a  dishonoured  man." 


302  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

He  had  been  watching  her  narrowly  as  he  spoke.  Her 
eyes,  lifted  to  him  at  first,  had  quickly  dropped  and  he 
could  see  that  she  was  deeply  moved.  She  did  not 
answer  for  a  moment,  and  he  stood  waiting  with  the 
keenest  anxiety  he  had  yet  known.  He  had  played 
his  last  card;  if  it  failed  he  would  have  to  carry  out 
exactly  the  programme  he  had  outlined  to  Kitty;  though 
even  that  would  not  save  her  unless  he  carried  her  off 
by  force  to  share  with  him  the  obscurity  of  his  Tennessee 
plantation  life. 

She  did  not  lift  her  eyes  when  at  last  she  spoke. 

"Major  Morland,"  she  said,  so  meekly  that  it  cut 
him  to  the  heart  in  the  gay,  audacious  Kitty,  "would 
you  mind  going  off  a  little  way  among  the  trees  and 
leaving  me  alone  for  ten  minutes?  You  can  time  me 
by  your  watch  and  come  back  in  exactly  ten  minutes, 
and  I  will  tell  you  then  whether  or  not  I  will 
marry  you." 

"I  will  do  just  as  you  say,  Kitty,"  he  said  very  gently, 
and  then  he  hesitated  a  little.  "Kitty,  look  up  at  me 
a  moment,  please." 

But  Kitty  could  not.  She  shook  her  head,  and 
Morland  saw  the  tears  were  welling  out  from  under  her 
curling  lashes.  His  heart  ached  for  the  struggle  he 
knew  she  was  going  through.  He  would  help  her  a 
little  if  he  could.  He  half  knelt  beside  her  and  took 
the  hand  that  lay  listless  in  her  lap  and  held  it  close  in 
both  of  his. 

"Kitty,"  he  said,  gently,  hesitating  but  determined, 
"I  know  this  will  be  no  ordinary  marriage.  I  know 
you  do  not  love  me  as  a  woman  loves  the  man  she  would 
marry,  but  I  do  not  want  you  to  be  afraid  of  me.  I 


JOHN  MORLAND  303 

shall  not  demand  your  love.  I  know  you  have  always 
thought  of  me  more  as  a  father  or  an  elder  brother. 
Think  of  me  so  still,  Kitty  —  I  will  never  fail  you.  To 
your  little  Janet  I  will  be  a  father,  to  you  I  will  be  an 
elder  brother,  but  to  the  world  we  will  both  be  vindi 
cated." 

He  dropped  her  hand  with  a  quick,  warm  pressure, 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  hurried  away  without  waiting 
for  her  to  speak.  He  sought  a  spot  in  the  woods  where 
the  thick  underbrush,  although  bare  of  all  foliage 
except  the  tattered  shreds  the  winter's  storms  had  left 
it,  effectually  screened  him  from  Kitty,  and  with  his 
watch  in  his  hand  he  strode  up  and  down  the  narrow 
limits  he  had  set  himself  in  an  agitation  too  great  to 
permit  of  physical  inaction. 

The  underbrush  effectually  screened  Kitty  also. 
Morland  could  not  see  her  throw  herself  passionately, 
face  down,  among  the  leaves  and  sob  for  a  few  moments 
as  if  her  heart  would  break.  He  could  not  hear  her  half- 
suppressed  moans  and  her  broken  utterances:  "He 
does  not  love  me!"  "He  pities  me!"  "I  have  ruined 
him!"  "It  is  the  only  way  to  save  him!" 

But  after  a  few  minutes  given  up  to  the  abandon  of 
grief,  Kitty  sat  up  again  and  began  to  dry  her  eyes 
and  straighten  her  locks.  She  had  come  to  a  decision 
now,  and  the  last  five  minutes  of  the  ten  were  spent 
in  trying  to  remove  the  traces  of  her  agitation,  and 
to  control  the  sobs  that  still  at  intervals  broke  from 
her  as  the  sobs  of  a  grieved  child  long  after  it  has 
been  pacified. 

So  successful  was  she  that,  as  Morland  once  more 
stood  before  her,  there  was  scarcely  a  trace  of  the  storm 


304  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

she  had  been  through.  Her  lids  were  too  thickly  lashed 
to  allow  of  reddening,  and  she  had  purposely  put  into 
her  eyes  the  steely  look  that  gave  the  lie  to  their  more 
than  usual  dewiness;  and  though  her  cheeks  were  still 
a  little  flushed,  the  heightened  colour  only  added  to  her 
beauty. 

She  spoke  quickly,  the  moment  Morland  had  come 
to  a  standstill  before  her,  as  if  fearing  her  courage  might 
ooze  out  if  she  waited,  and  she  spoke  coldly: 

"  I  have  made  my  decision,  Major  Morland.  I  will 
marry  you." 

Morland  could  not  know  that  the  steely  glint  in  her 
eyes  was  the  steeliness  of  resolution,  and  that  the  cold 
ness  of  her  manner  was  to  cover  her  agitation.  It 
struck  him  to  the  heart.  How  often  and  how  differently 
had  he  pictured  to  himself  this  moment  when  she  should 
one  day  say,  "I  will  marry  you."  There  was  no  thought 
now  of  taking  her  in  his  arms;  no  thought  of  a  lover's 
kisses;  his  only  joyful  sensation  was  the  relief  of  know 
ing  that  Kitty  was  saved.  She  had  risen  to  her  feet  as 
she  saw  him  approach,  and  she  was  standing  now  before 
him  the  picture  of  proud  disdain.  She  had  need  to 
look  proud,  for  never  in  her  careless  life  had  she  so 
suffered  the  pangs  of  abject  humiliation. 

"Thank  you,  Kitty,"  said  Morland,  quietly,  not 
offering  even  to  touch  her  hand.  "And  you  will  marry 
me  this  evening?  It  is  imperative." 

"As  well  this  evening  as  any  other  time,  I  suppose," 
said  Kitty,  coldly.  And  then,  in  a  flash,  she  relented, 
as  she  saw  the  quick  colour  Morland  could  not  restrain 
spring  to  his  face. 

"Oh,  forgive  me,  Major  Morland,"  she  cried,  moving 


JOHN  MORLAND  305 

impulsively  toward  him,  both  hands  outstretched.  "I 
am  not  ungrateful,  and  I  would  not  hurt  you  for  worlds." 
He  took  her  hands  in  his,  lifted  them  to  his  lips,  then 
held  them  close  while  he  said,  brokenly:  "My  little 
Kitty,  you  shall  never  repent  it  —  "  and  for  the  life 
of  him  could  not  utter  another  word. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  THE   WOODS   AT   BLADENSBURG 

THE  walk  home  was  almost  as  silent  and  quite  as 
swift  as  the  walk  to  Rock  Creek  had  been.  It 
was  growing  dusk  of  the  short  winter  day,  and  there 
was  still  much  for  Morland  to  do. 

He  left  Kitty  at  the  door  of  McCabe's.  It  had  been 
arranged  between  them  that  she  should  tell  her  father 
and  mother  that  she  was  to  be  married  that  evening  to 
Major  Morland,  and  that  at  eight  o'clock  Morland 
would  appear  with  the  clergyman.  Now,  as  he  left 
Kitty,  his  first  errand  was  to  find  the  clergyman;  it  must 
be  the  rector  of  St.  John's,  he  supposed,  and  the  rector 
lived  in  Georgetown  nearly  four  miles  away.  He 
walked  hurriedly  over  to  the  near-by  stable,  where  he  kept 
his  horses,  ordered  Selim  saddled  at  once  and  at  the  same 
time,  that  there  might  be  no  slip  in  the  arrangements 
for  the  duel,  gave  his  orders  to  have  him  saddled  and 
ready  the  next  morning  by  a  quarter  before  seven,  when 
he  would  call  for  him. 

The  sun  had  just  set  as  he  galloped  rapidly  west 
toward  Georgetown.  It  was  a  cloudless  evening,  and 
in  a  clear  orange  sky  hung  the  pale  gold  crescent  of  a 
slender  new  moon.  As  he  rode  farther  the  hanging 
coppices  of  Georgetown  Heights  were  outlined  against 
the  afterglow  —  now  turning  from  clear  orange  to  tawny 
red  —  in  an  intricate  network  of  bare  limbs  and  delicate 

306 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    307 

twigs  and  branches.  He  felt  the  rush  of  the  frosty 
evening  air  against  his  face  and  the  hot  turmoil  of  his 
thoughts  began  to  subside.  After  all,  it  was  God's 
world,  and  just  as  surely  as  He  had  set  that  golden 
crescent  in  the  glowing  western  sky  to  draw  men's  thoughts 
to  the  peace  and  beauty  above  and  about  them,  just  so 
surely  could  He  bring  peace  and  joy  and  beauty  into 
disordered  lives,  if  the  faces  were  but  set  toward  them. 
He  and  Kitty  had  begun  badly  —  he  felt  it  to  his  heart's 
core  —  but  they  would  turn  their  faces  toward  Him, 
and  all  would  be  well  in  the  end. 

He  was  greatly  troubled.  This  hurried  marriage  was 
not  at  all  to  his  taste,  and  that  Kitty  had  to  be  forced 
into  it  so  evidently  against  her  will  hurt  him  exceedingly. 
Moreover,  while,  for  the  time,  the  thought  of  the  im 
pending  duel  had  been  pushed  into  the  background 
by  the  stress  of  more  immediate  and  compelling  in 
terests,  it  was  there,  ready  to  seize  and  overwhelm  him 
at  any  unguarded  moment.  He  could  not  refuse  to 
recognize  the  element  of  uncertainty,  and  he  looked 
at  all  the  details  of  the  beautiful  winter  twilight  —  the 
delicate  tracery  of  bare  trees  against  the  dying  glow 
of  the  west;  the  fair  young  moon;  the  sweep  of  the  river, 
a  pale  yellow  in  the  sunset  light;  the  empurpled  hills 
of  the  Virginia  shore  fast  changing  to  a  sombre  gray  — 
with  a  curious  sensation  that  it  was  quite  possible  he 
was  looking  on  them  all  for  the  last  time. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  soothing  to  his  troubled 
spirit  than  this  swift  ride  through  the  calm  of  the  winter 
twilight  to  Georgetown  and  back.  It  was  quite  dark 
by  the  time  he  reached  the  door  of  McCabe's  again, 
and  dinner  had  long  been  over.  He  had  not  thought 


308  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

of  it  in  the  hurry  and  rush  of  his  emotions,  but  it  had 
been  hours  since  he  had  eaten,  and  he  realized  that  he 
began  to  feel  the  exhaustion  of  hunger.  He  found 
Jeff  waiting  for  him  in  his  room  and  sent  him  for  a 
sandwich  and  a  glass  of  wine.  Jeff  had  been  in  great 
distress  about  his  master  this  afternoon.  He  knew 
something  very  unusual  was  pending,  for  never  before 
had  he  known  the  dignified  young  Senator,  as  deliberate 
in  his  actions  as  the  most  deliberate  of  Southerners,  to 
rush  with  feverish  haste  from  one  errand  to  another, 
scarcely  calling  on  him  for  any  assistance,  and  forgetting 
even  the  hour  for  dinner,  so  rigidly  observed  in  the 
McCabe  household. 

It  was  no  sandwich  and  a  glass  of  wine  he  was  going 
to  fetch  his  master;  he  had  an  inviting  little  dinner  all 
ready  in  the  kitchen  to  be  popped  into  broiler  and  oven, 
and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  he  returned  bearing  a 
huge  tray  with  the  little  dinner  temptingly  arrayed  upon 
it  and  smoking  hot.  Morland,  with  the  consciousness 
that  all  his  experiences  might  easily  be  last  ones,  was 
touched  to  the  quick  by  this  little  proof  of  his  faithful 
slave's  devotion.  Something  swelled  in  his  throat,  and 
for  the  moment  he  could  do  nothing  more  than  signal 
to  Jeff,  by  a  curt  gesture,  to  set  the  tray  down,  while 
he  pretended  to  be  deep  in  some  papers  conveniently 
open  on  his  desk. 

But  he  recovered  control  of  himself  quickly  and 
sat  down  gaily  before  his  little  feast;  and  if  he  did  not 
eat  much  he  made  great  pretense  of  it,  and  carried  on 
such  a  continuous  strain  of  jest  and  joke  with  Jeff  - 
after  the  manner  of  the  old-time  freedom  between 
master  and  man  —  that  Jeff  did  not  discover  that  he 


JOHN  MORLAND  309 

had  barely  nibbled  at  his  delicious  chops  and  broiled 
oysters  and  hot  biscuit.  The  fact  was  that  he  was 
labouring  under  a  tremendous  excitement;  and  it  was 
no  fear  of  that  hateful  duel  that  was  making  it  impossible 
for  him  to  touch  food,  and  setting  every  nerve  quivering 
and  the  blood  racing  through  his  veins  and  surging  in 
his  brain  and  pounding  in  his  temples.  No,  it  was 
the  one  overmastering  thought  that  in  little  more  than 
an  hour  Kitty  would  be  Kitty  Morland,  and  whether 
it  was  dread  or  unreasoning  joy  that  had  set  his  brain 
on  fire,  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  tell. 

But  there  were  few  outward  signs  of  his  excitement 
when  with  a  quick  "I  have  no  time  for  any  more, 
Jeff,"  he  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose  to  his  feet. 
There  was  no  trace,  either,  of  his  jesting  manner  of  a 
few  moments  before.  He  spoke  with  that  dignity  he 
knew  so  well  how  to  assume  on  occasion,  and  that  always 
inspired  Jeff  with  a  feeling  akin  to  awe: 

"I  am  to  be  married,  Jeff,  at  eight  o'clock  this  evening 
to  Mistress  Sutherland.  You  will  help  me  to  dress 
as  quickly  as  possible,  and  then  you  may  dress  yourself 
and  be  present  at  the  ceremony  in  Mrs.  McCabe's 
parlour." 

Jeff's  eyes  rolled  wildly,  but  he  did  not  dare  utter  a 
word.  His  master,  with  that  deep  glow  in  his  dark 
blue  eyes  and  that  wonderful  vibration  in  his  voice, 
was  a  young  god  in  Jeff's  eyes,  and  spoke  with  the  voice 
and  the  authority  of  one. 

He  had  somewhat  of  the  same  effect  on  Kitty  when, 
on  the  stroke  of  eight,  he  entered  Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour. 
The  clergyman  was  already  there,  talking  to  Kitty,  and 
as  Morland  stood  a  moment  at  the  door  she  looked  up 


310  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

at  him,  caught  the  deep  glow  in  his  eyes,  and  feeling 
herself  wrapped  for  an  instant  in  the  white  flame  of  his 
glance,  that  for  that  instant  he  could  not  control, 
trembled  and  let  her  eyes  fall  before  him. 

His  instant's  pause,  his  glowing  glance,  both  alike 
involuntary,  had  been  evoked  by  a  vision  of  Kitty  as 
unexpected  as  it  was  dazzling.  For  nearly  a  year  he 
had  seen  her  only  in  black,  and  it  had  not  occurred  to 
him  that  there  would  be  any  impropriety  in  marrying 
one  husband  while  wearing  mourning  for  the  other. 
It  had  occurred  to  Kitty,  of  course,  and  with  a  native 
sense  of  delicacy  neither  did  it  seem  to  her  quite  appro 
priate  to  wear  the  bridal  white  she  had  worn  for  Lieu 
tenant  Sutherland.  She  had  hit  on  a  happy  mean  and 
was  wearing  a  soft  and  shimmering  gray.  It  was  a  dress  of 
her  mother's,  and  gave  Kitty  something  of  the  spirituelle 
beauty  of  her  mother.  She  was  like  a  glorious  goddess 
softened  for  the  sight  of  mortal  eyes  by  being  veiled  in 
a  delicate  gray  mist.  No  wonder  Morland's  eyes  for  the 
moment  betrayed  him. 

But  he  had  himself  under  rigid  control  through  the 
ceremony  and  through  the  evening  that  followed.  Or, 
rather,  through  the  evening  that  followed  he  seemed 
to  have  removed  all  restraint  from  his  manner;  he  was 
the  gay  and  charming  friend  of  Kitty's  early  recollections. 
Affectionately  deferential,  as  always,  to  Mrs.  McCabe, 
he  was  by  turns  friendly,  fatherly,  brotherly  to  Kitty. 
Teasing  her,  scolding  her,  admiring  her,  but  with  never 
a  hint  of  the  lover.  If  Kitty  had  dreaded  this  ordeal, 
nothing  could  have  been  more  reassuring  than  his  tactics. 
Janet,  an  angel  in  fluffy  white,  had  been  allowed  to  stay 
up  to  see  her  mother  married,  and  after  the  ceremony 


JOHN  MORLAND  311 

Morland  and  she  had  had  a  grand  romp  together,  and 
then  Morland  had  himself  called  Emmeline  and  sent 
her  off  to  bed  with  a  whimsical  assumption  of  authority 
that  delighted  Janet  and  made  the  others  smile  —  as  he 
intended. 

Mrs.  McCabe  watched  him  through  the  evening  with 
shining  eyes.  She  did  not  understand  the  suddenness 
of  this  marriage,  and  she  would  have  greatly  preferred 
to  have  it  postponed  until  the  year  of  mourning  was 
over;  but  it  was  what  she  had  been  secretly  hoping  for 
during  the  last  months,  and  what  she  had  secretly  and 
ardently  desired  for  Kitty,  before  Kitty  had  ever  met 
Lieutenant  Sutherland.  Now,  at  last,  she  felt  that  her 
wayward  child  was  in  safe  hands,  and  the  ugly  gossip 
that  she  had  guessed  at,  but  of  the  extent  of  which  she 
did  not  dream,  would  be  stilled. 

Morland  had  seized  a  moment  when  Kitty  and  her 
father  and  the  clergyman  were  talking  together  to  say 
quietly  to  Mrs.  McCabe  that  the  wedding  had  been 
more  sudden  than  either  he  or  Kitty  had  anticipated, 
and  he  would  have  to  leave  her  in  her  mother's  hands 
for  a  few  days  until  he  could  find  suitable  rooms  to 
which  to  take  her.  Tim,  who  was  pompously  impor 
tant,  and  glowing  with  satisfaction  in  having  a  distin 
guished  senator  for  a  son-in-law,  being  informed  by  his 
wife  that  Kitty  was  to  remain,  for  the  present,  in  her 
old  quarters,  thought  he  was  doing  a  delicate  and 
suitable  thing  to  say  quite  audibly  to  his  wife  at 
ten  o'clock:  "My  dear,  no  doubt  the  newly-wedded 
pair  would  like  a  few  moments  to  themselves;  shall  we 
withdraw?" 

Morland  overheard  him,  as  was  intended. 


312  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Oh,  don't  go,"  he  said,  and  smiling  at  Kitty.  "Kitty 
and  I  have  said  it  all — haven't  we,  Kitty?" 

Kitty  said  "Yes,"  and  Morland  went  on  to  say  that 
he  must  be  bidding  good-night  since  he  had  some 
neglected  work  to  attend  to.  He  shook  hands  cordially 
with  Tim,  kissed  Mrs.  McCabe  with  real  tenderness  and 
respect  and  said  in  her  ear:  "Take  care  of  my  Kitty, 
Mother,"  and  then  came  to  Kitty. 

It  would  never  do  not  to  kiss  her  good-night,  with 
her  father  and  mother  looking  on  —  the  clergyman  had 
long  since  gone  —  but  would  Kitty  like  it  ?  Like  it 
or  not,  he  would  kiss  her,  and  not  merely  for  form's  sake. 
If  Montclair's  bullet  did  its  duty  to-morrow  morning 
it  would  be  his  last  kiss  —  the  only  one  he  would  ever 
give  his  wife. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  with  ardent  eyes,  fixing 
the  beautiful  vision  indelibly  in  his  memory;  Kitty  could 
not  endure  his  gaze  unmoved;  her  own  eyes  drooped, 
and  blushing  and  trembling  she  stood  before  him  the 
picture  of  a  young  and  loving  wife.  It  was  too  much 
for  Morland's  resolution.  He  had  meant  only  to  take 
her  hand  and  touch  her  cheek  with  his  lips;  Kitty  might 
be  a  consummate  coquette  or  an  accomplished  actor 
keeping  up  appearances,  but  for  the  moment  he  believed 
neither;  and  taking  her  in  his  arms  with  a  strength  and 
passion  he  was  little  conscious  of,  he  kissed  her  full  in 
the  lips,  whispered  "  Good-bye  —  my  wife,"  and  hur 
riedly  left  the  room. 

In  the  cold  dawn  of  the  next  morning  Morland  and 
Randolph  were  riding  side  by  side  up  the  Eastern 
Branch  of  the  Potomac  toward  Bladensburg,  and  a  few 


JOHN  MORLAND  313 

paces  behind  them  rode  Jeff  with  hanging  head.  Jeff 
had  guessed  what  this  important  business  must  be  that 
necessitated  his  getting  his  master  up  at  this  unusual 
hour;  and  when  Randolph  appeared  to  accompany 
him,  and  they  took  the  road  to  the  well-known  duelling 
ground,  then  Jeff  was  sure,  and  rode  with  sorrow  at 
his  heart,  but  a  faint  hope,  also,  that  his  hurried  con 
ference  with  Emmeline  in  the  early  morning  might  yet 
bear  fruit. 

The  road  was  roughened  to  their  horses'  feet  by  a  hard 
frost,  and  the  white  rime  lay  heavy  on  the  straggling 
stalks  of  last  summer's  flowers  that  bordered  their  way, 
on  the  long  line  of  fence  rails,  and  on  the  trunks  and 
branches  and  the  dead  leaves  pendant  from  them  of  the 
great  oaks  that  began  to  thicken  about  their  path  as 
they  entered  the  Bladensburg  woods.  Randolph  was 
talking  steadily,  trying  to  divert  his  friend  from  gloomy 
thoughts,  and  Morland  had  every  appearance  of  listening 
and  making  suitable  responses.  But  he  was  horribly 
depressed.  The  whole  affair  was  so  distasteful  to  him, 
and  by  the  clear  light  of  day,  momentarily  growing 
clearer,  it  seemed  so  needless.  But  for  the  white  heat 
of  anger  into  which  he  had  been  betrayed  he  would 
have  taken  the  truly  sensible  course  —  called  Montclair 
aside  and  told  him  he  must  retract  his  lying  words  to 
his  friends  or  he  would  be  publicly  horsewhipped.  There 
was  no  question  in  Morland's  mind  that  Montclair 
would  not  have  retracted;  he  knew  the  cowardly  nature 
of  the  man. 

And  the  pity  of  it!  To  be  throwing  away  his  life  just 
when  it  had  reached  its  glorious  zenith,  with  Kitty  and  a 
seat  in  the  cabinet  both  his!  For  he  had  quite  decided 


314  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

he  would  not  come  out  of  that  duel  alive,  since  he  had 
also  decided  that,  although  he  had  been  guilty  of  the 
foolishness  of  compelling  Montclair  to  this  duel,  he 
would  not  be  guilty  of  the  crime  of  attempting  his  life 
—  he  would  fire  into  the  air. 

Their  path  was  now  only  a  woodland  trail  leading 
down  to  the  ravine  in  which  lay  the  duelling  grounds. 
Randolph  was  explaining  his  plan.  Should  the  other 
second  win  the  choice  of  position  and  he  win  the  right 
to  give  the  word,  then  he  intended  to  follow  the  plan 
Jackson's  second  had  followed  in  the  notable  duel  with 
Dickinson.  He  should  order  them  to  point  their  pistols 
to  the  ground,  and  at  his  one  word  "Fire!"  they  should 
raise  their  pistols  and  fire.  It  had  worked  well  for 
Jackson  in  an  encounter  with  a  man  of  almost  unerring 
aim;  it  should  work  better  for  Morland,  since  he  did  not 
believe  Montclair  to  be  a  wonderful  shot,  and  he  did 
believe  that  he  had  so  little  nerve  as  to  be  easily  flustered 
and  thrown  off  his  balance  by  the  sudden,  sharp 
command. 

Morland  listened  and  offered  no  objection.  He 
would  not  tell  Randolph  that  all  his  scheming  was  in 
vain,  since  he  intended  to  fire  into  the  air  and  would 
have  to  stand  up  and  be  shot  at  in  cold  blood;  he  was 
feeling  so  dull  and  spiritless  it  mattered  little  to  him 
how  it  was  to  be  done.  But  he  roused  himself  when  he 
reached  the  open  glade  where  the  ravine  broadened  to 
make  an  ideal  spot  for  such  encounters :  shut  in  by  rising 
ground  on  both  sides  with  all  danger  of  intrusion  pre 
vented  and  any  noise  of  the  conflict  deadened.  The 
sun  had  risen  by  this  time  and  the  little  stream  that 
flowed  over  its  rocky  bed  through  the  ravine  caught 


JOHN  MORLAND  315 

the  glint  of  its  beams  where  its  waters  tumbled  noisily 
into  a  deep  pool  on  whose  still  surface  had  gathered  a 
film  of  ice.  It  was  a  cheery  little  stream,  and  its  gay 
chattering  and  the  bright  glitter  of  the  morning  sun 
insensibly  brightened  Morland's  spirits.  Montclair  won 
the  choice  of  position,  and  said  boastingly  to  his  second 
and  loud  enough  to  heard  by  Morland:  "Luck  is  with 
me,  as  usual."  He  had  been  drinking  heavily  to  keep 
up  his  spirits,  and  it  showed  in  his  silly  swagger  and 
foolish  vauntings,  evidently  an  annoyance  to  his  second, 
who  was,  no  doubt,  a  gentleman,  and  who  tried  to  keep 
him  within  bounds. 

The  two  seconds  withdrew  to  a  little  distance  for  a 
moment's  conference.  It  was  Randolph  who  had  re 
quested  it;  more  and  more  it  seemed  to  him  a  crime  to 
risk  a  valuable  life  like  Morland's  in  such  a  senseless 
quarrel  —  as  Randolph  would  always  regard  any  quarrel 
over  a  woman  —  or  at  the  hands  of  a  man  so  unworthy 
as  he  had  supposed  Montclair  to  be,  and  as  he  was 
showing  himself  this  morning. 

"Mr.  Tazewell,"  said  Randolph,  when  they  found 
themselves  at  a  discreet  distance,  "is  there  no  possibility 
of  putting  a  stop  to  this  without  recourse  to  pistols? 
Can't  you  persuade  your  man  to  apologize?" 

"The  apology  would  have  to  come  from  your  side,  since 
there  is  where  the  offence  was  given,"  said  the  Virginian, 
stiffly. 

"I  do  not  believe  you  thoroughly  understand  the 
rights  of  the  case,"  persisted  Randolph,  struggling  to 
keep  his  quick  temper  under  control.  "I  do  not  believe 
you  know  either  Mr.  Montclair  or  Senator  Morland. 
Suppose,  sir,  you  had  overheard  such  words  spoken 


316  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

about  you  and  a  lady  you  esteemed,  and  knew  them  to 
be  lies,  what  could  you  have  done?" 

"If  I  had  known  them  to  be  lies,  sir,"  with  a  signifi 
cant  emphasis,  "I  could  have  done  no  less  than  Senator 
Morland,  but  I  understand  the  matter  has  long  been 
common  talk,  and  the  world,  at  least,  believes  them 
true." 

"Then  the  world  believes  a  lie,"  said  Randolph,  hotly. 
"There  is  no  more  honourable  gentleman  in  Washington 
than  Senator  Morland,  and  Mistress  Sutherland  is  a  silly 
little  woman  he  has  known  from  her  childhood,  and  has 
tried  to  protect  from  Montclair's  base  designs,  and  in 
so  doing  has  got  himself  talked  of.  The  Widow  Suther 
land's  husband  was  his  friend,  and  trusted  and  loved 
him  to  the  last.  If  the  world  believes  that  Senator 
Morland  is  responsible  for  his  suicide  then  it  believes 
so  because  Montclair  has  insidiously  and  persistently 
circulated  such  a  lie." 

"Sir,"  said  the  Virginian,  after  a  moment's  troubled 
silence,  "if  I  could  believe  you  were  not  deceived,  if  I 
could  possibly  believe  my  principal  was  such  a  scoundrel, 
I  would  take  no  further  part  in  this  —  Mr.  Montclair 
would  have  to  look  elsewhere  for  a  second." 

"You  have  my  word,  sir,"  said  Randolph,  proudly. 

"And  I  cannot  doubt  the  word  of  John  Randolph, 
of  Roanoke,"  interrupted  the  Virginian,  quickly,  "only 
it  is  possible,  I  suppose,  that  he  could  be  mistaken, 
and  I  do  not  see  my  way  clear  to  recede  from  my  present 
position." 

Randolph  bowed. 

"Very  well,  sir,  then  we  will  go  on  with  it,"  grimly. 
And  turning  to  Jeff,  who  was  hovering  anxiously  near 


JOHN  MORLAND  317 

and  trying  to  attract  his  attention,  he  spoke  irritably: 
"What  is  it,  Jeff?" 

"'Scuse  me,  Marse  Randolph,  but  I  tole  Mrs.  Mor- 
land's  yallow  girl,  Emmeline,  this  mornin',  that  I  done 
think  thar  's  gwine  to  be  a  duel.  An'  ef  she  tole  her 
missus,  Mrs.  Morland '11  be  here  soon,  shore;  an' p'raps, 
that  '11  stop  it." 

"Mrs.  Morland!"  exclaimed  Randolph.  "Of  whom 
are  you  talking,  Jeff?" 

"Oh,  good  Lord!"  exclaimed  Jeff,  terrified  and  rolling 
his  eyes  wildly  in  the  direction  of  a  distant  glimpse  of 
Morland 's  dark  figure  among  the  trees.  "He  neber  tole 
me  not  to  tell.  Did  en'  you  know  Marse  Morland  an' 
Miss  Kitty  wuz  married  las'  night?" 

Randolph  was  too  astounded  for  words,  for  a  moment, 
but  the  Virginian  broke  in  excitedly: 

"Senator  Morland  married  to  the  lady  in  dispute! 
This  puts  an  entirely  different  light  on  the  matter.  If 
he  has  wronged  her  he  has  made  the  only  reparation 
possible.  I  do  not  object  to  presenting  this  view  of  it 
to  my  principal,  and  I  think  he  might  be  willing  to  apolo 
gize  for  using  such  words  of  Senator  Morland's  wife." 

Randolph  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"I  hope  you  will  try,  Mr.  Tazewell,  but  it  seems  to 
me  there  is  but  little  choice  between  dying  at  the  hands 
of  such  a  scoundrel  as  Montclair  and  being  tied  for  life 
to  such  a  vain  and  silly  woman  as  the  Widow  Sutherland. 
He  has  thrown  away  his  life  in  either  case,  and  he  had 
a  great  future  before  him." 

Then,  suddenly  lifting  his  head  and  flinging  back  his 
long  hair  with  his  old  familiar  gesture,  he  screamed  in 
his  shrill  tones: 


318  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"A  mistaken  idea  of  chivalry,  sir!  God  only  knows 
what  is  to  become  of  a  country  when  its  finest  men  are 
continually  at  the  mercy  of  such  foolish  creatures!" 

The  Virginian  knew  John  Randolph  by  reputation, 
and  only  by  a  tremendous  effort  could  he  repress  a  smile 
at  this  characteristic  speech.  He  succeeded,  however. 

"Shall  we  try  what  we  can  do,  sir?"  he  said,  soberly, 
with  a  courteous  gesture,  giving  Randolph  prece 
dence  in  their  return  to  Morland  and  Montclair. 

Hardly  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  when  they 
were  both  startled  by  the  rapid  firing  of  pistols,  and  a 
moment  later  the  clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs.  The  three 
men  started  on  a  run,  Jeff  well  in  the  lead,  and  Randolph 
anathematizing  himself  at  every  step  for  having  left 
Morland  alone  at  the  mercy  of  such  a  scoundrel;  for 
not  for  a  moment  did  he  doubt  that  Montclair  had 
seized  this  opportunity  to  shoot  Morland  in  cold  blood, 
and  the  clatter  of  hoofs  was  his  fleeing  horse  bearing 
him  away  in  shameful  flight. 

Morland  and  Montclair  had  been  left  to  themselves 
for  nearly  twenty  minutes.  Morland,  not  caring  to  be 
nearer  than  necessary  to  Montclair  who,  in  his  present 
half-drunken  insolence,  was  more  intolerable  than  ever, 
had  walked  off  to  a  little  distance  where  a  flat  rock  under 
a  spreading  oak  offered  a  convenient  seat.  For  the  first 
few  minutes  he  had  been  lost  in  a  revery  of  those  who 
had  gone  before  him  in  that  place;  who  had,  on  other 
wintry  dawns,  ridden  over  the  same  road;  some  of  them 
to  meet  in  the  Bladensburg  woods  the  grim  messenger, 
and  some  of  them  to  leave  the  Bladensburg  woods  in 
flight  from  disgrace  and  remorse.  Most  of  all,  he 


JOHN  MORLAND  319 

thought  of  the  brilliant  Decatur,  laid  low  on  that  very 
spot,  and  how  his  antagonist  was  only  now  beginning 
to  recover  from  the  odium  of  having  slain  him. 

But  his  thoughts  did  not  linger  long  with  such  grue 
some  companions;  they  flew  back  to  Kitty  as  swiftly  and 
surely  as  homing  birds.  Would  she  be  sorry  for  his  death  ? 
Kitty  and  he  had  been  comrades  for  years;  she  could 
not  but  mourn  him  a  little  for  the  sake  of  old  friendship, 
but,  perhaps,  too,  she  would  be  relieved  to  be  set  free 
from  a  hateful  tie.  She  was  awake  now  —  was  she  think 
ing  of  him  —  her  new  husband  ?  Or  was  she,  possibly, 
thinking  of  Montclair  —  his  hated  rival,  as  Morland 
firmly  believed  him. 

He  glanced  at  Montclair.  He  was  pacing  restlessly 
to  and  fro  still  with  a  determined  swagger,  but  Morland 
also  thought  with  something  of  the  effect  of  faltering 
in  his  gait.  Was  his  courage  oozing  out?  He  had 
come  near  Morland  in  his  restless  pacing,  and  meeting 
his  glance  he  halted. 

"  I  don't  see  what  our  seconds  are  about,"  he  growled 
with  an  oath.  "See  here,  Senator  Morland,  I  propose 
that,  since  they  have  left  us  to  ourselves,  we  settle  it  for 
ourselves.  What  do  you  say  to  each  of  us  taking  a  try 
from  the  foot  of  this  rock  at  that  single  red  leaf  on  the 
topmost  branch  of  that  oak  bush  yonder  ?  The  one  who 
fails  to  hit  it  shall  apologize  to  the  other  and  consider 
the  matter  settled." 

Morland  stared  at  him  blankly.  He  could  not  for  a 
moment  take  in  such  a  preposterous  proposition.  But 
the  man's  teeth  were  fairly  chattering,  and  his  face 
was  going  from  *a  sickly  white  to  a  cadaverous  yellow. 
Morland  knew  that  Montclair  was  in  no  danger  from 


320  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

his  gun,  but  Montclair  could  not  know  it,  and  the  agonies 
of  fear,  no  doubt,  were  worse  than  death.  Why  not 
settle  it  in  that  way  ?  It  had  been  all  a  hideous  mistake 
from  the  beginning,  and  this  manner  of  settling"  it  could 
not  be  sillier  than  he  had  always  considered  a  recourse 
to  the  duel.  And  then,  suddenly,  without  warning, 
his  heart  gave  one  exultant  throb  —  he  would  still  be 
living,  and  living  for  Kitty! 

"Mr.  Montclair,"  he  said,  quietly,  after  a  moment's 
deliberation,  "this  is  a  very  unusual  proposal,  but  with 
one  slight  modification  I  am  willing  to  agree  to  it.  If 
I  hit  the  leaf  you  shall  apologize  to  me  and  tell  your 
friends  that  you  lied;  but  if  you  hit  it,  although  I  will 
not  apologize,  I  will  consider  the  matter  settled  without 
your  apology." 

"All  right,  any  way  you  want  to  fix  it,  only  for  God's 
sake  be  quick  about  it  or  that  fire-eating  Virginian  will 
be  back  and  insist  on  our  carrying  out  the  regulations." 

Morland  smiled  inwardly.  No  doubt  Montclair  had 
been  seeking  a  way  out  of  it  before,  and  his  friend  would 
not  let  him  off. 

"But  we  have  no  pistols,"  he  demurred. 

"Yes,"  said  Montclair,  "I  forgot  to  remove  mine 
when  I  left  home,  and  I  always  carry  two." 

He  took  them  from  his  pockets  as  he  spoke  and 
handed  one  to  Morland.  It  was  impossible  to  prevent 
a  hateful  suspicion  flashing  through  Morland's  mind. 
He  had  never  been  aware  of  this  habit  of  Montclair's 
of  going  around  always  with  two  pistols  in  his  pockets,  and 
to  forget  such  an  important  detail  of  the  arrangements 
as  removing  them  in  preparation  for  the  duel  seemed 
incredible  carelessness.  But  he  said  nothing,  only  took 


HIS  FACE  WAS  LIVID     .    .     .     'NO  ONK   KVKR  TOLD   ME  YOU  WKRK 
SUCH  A  UKAD  SHOT'  " 


JOHN  MORLAND  321 

the  pistol  from  Montclair's  hand  with  a  feeling  of  cold 
loathing  as  toward  a  reptile. 

"I  think  I  should  shoot  first,  since  it  is  my  proposition," 
Montclair  demanded,  querulously,  evidently  in  hot  haste 
lest  the  seconds  should  return. 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish,"  Morland  acquiesced,  coolly. 

Montclair  stepped  quickly  to  the  base  of  the  rock, 
raised  his  pistol  with  such  trembling  eagerness  that  he 
could  not  wait  to  take  aim,  and  fired.  The  red  leaf 
still  fluttered  gently  in  the  morning  breeze.  He  uttered 
an  impatient  oath,  and  stepped  back.  Morland  deter 
mined  to  give  him  a  little  scare  —  he  would  show  him 
what  his  fate  might  have  been.  He  stepped  quickly  to 
his  place,  raised  his  pistol  high  in  the  air,  and  as  he 
dropped  it,  fired  —  a  spectacular  trick  he  had  learned 
from  his  Tennessee  rangers.  The  red  leaf  no  longer 
waved  in  the  morning  breeze.  Montclair's  pistol  dropped 
from  his  nerveless  hand,  his  face  was  livid. 

"My  God,  Morland!"  he  exclaimed,  involuntarily. 
"No  one  ever  told  me  you  were  such  a  dead  shot!" 

"I  rarely  miss,"  said  Morland,  calmly,  quite  willing 
to  keep  up  the  scare,  and  walking  toward  the  oak  bush 
as  he  spoke.  At  the  bush  he  turned. 

"I  have  shot  it  quite  off;  there  is  not  a  vestige  of  it 
left.  I  am  ready  to  receive  your  apology,  Mr.  Montclair." 
He  drew  himself  up  as  he  spoke  and  uttered  the  words 
grimly. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Kitty  on  Brown  Bess 
dashed  recklessly  down  the  rocky  ravine  and  came  in 
sight  of  the  two  men,  drawn  up,  as  she  supposed,  pistols 
in  hand,  and  only  waiting  for  the  word  to  fire.  Was 
she  too  late!  "Oh,  God,  help  me  even  yet  to  save  him," 


322  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

she  breathed,  and  rising  in  her  stirrup  lifted  her  clear 
voice  in  a  high,  strong  call:  "Don't  fire!  Wait  for  me!" 

The  two  men  stood  as  if  petrified  at  such  an  unex 
pected  apparition,  and  in  an  instant  Brown  Bess  had 
carried  her  between  them,  and  she  had  flung  herself 
from  Brown  Bess's  back  and  the  mare,  as  if  knowing 
she  was  in  the  way,  trotted  gently  off  to  a  little  distance 
and  began  to  browse  quietly  on  the  brown  tufts  of  dry 
winter  herbage. 

At  the  first  sight  of  Kitty  Morland  had  turned  to 
stone.  How  came  she  there!  Who  had  told  her? 
She  must  have  cared  for  one  of  them,  at  least.  And 
then  his  heart  sickened  within  him,  for  it  was  to  Mont- 
clair  she  turned,  and  not  to  him.  Seeing  which,  Mont- 
clair,  no  longer  tormented  by  base  fears,  began  to  inso 
lently  strut  again. 

"Ah,  the  fair  Kitty!"  he  exclaimed  with  detestable 
familiarity.  "You  are  just  in  time,  Kitty,  to  save  my 
life,  which  I  was  about  to  risk  in  your  behalf!" 

He  was  still  speaking  when  the  two  seconds,  with 
Jeff,  came  running  up,  in  time  to  see  and  to  hear  Kitty; 
and  to  his  dying  day  the  young  Virgirtian  never  forgot 
the  superb  scorn  of  that  magnificent  creature.  Her  whole 
form  dilating  with  it,  her  eyes  flaming  with  it,  she  hurled 
her  white-hot  words  at  the  craven  who  cowered  and 
shriveled  before  them. 

"Never  speak  to  me  again  as  long  as  you  live,  sir! 
I  know  not  the  cause  of  this  quarrel,  but  I  can  guess 
you  have  spoken  some  lying  words  of  me  which  my 
high-minded  husband  has  felt  compelled  to  resent.  You 
dare  to  fight  a  duel  with  the  most  honourable  man  in 
Washington!  Let  him  order  his  black  man  to  horse- 


JOHN  MORLAND  323 

whip  you  in  our  presence  —  that  is  the  only  'satisfaction 
he  should  be  willing  to  give  you.  Duelling  is  for  gen 
tlemen!" 

Montclair  could  not  stand  the  scorching  flame  of  her 
words  and  her  eyes;  he  visibly  shriveled  under  them, 
and,  utterly  bewildered  by  her  words  "My  husband," 
turned  and  began  to  slink  away.  As  soon  as  Kitty 
saw  that  she  need  no  longer  fear  anything  for  Morland 
from  Montclair,  she  too  turned  and  began  to  walk 
slowly  toward  her  husband.  Morland  did  not  move 
from  his  place,  but  all  his  heart  was  in  his  eyes,  and  his 
eyes  were  on  Kitty  walking  slowly  toward  him  and 
looking  up  at  him  half  afraid  that  he  might  not  have 
liked  her  coming.  He  waited  until  she  was  only  a  few 
paces  from  him,  then  he  stepped  quickly  forward  and, 
extending  his  hand,  drew  Kitty's  arm  through  his,  and 
turned  to  the  two  seconds. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said  quietly,  but  with  a  thrill  of  elation 
he  could  not  control  deepening  his  tones,  "will  you 
permit  the  proudest  and  the  happiest  man  in  Washington 
to  present  to  you  his  wife  —  Mistress  Morland  1" 


CHAPTER  III 

AT   MONTEREY 

I  CONSIDER  my  duty  to  Mr.  Montclair  discharged, 
and   I   hereby  publicly  refuse  to  have  any  further 
relations  with  a  man  so  utterly  devoid  of  honour  as  he 
has  proved  himself  to  be.     May  I  accompany  you  and 
your  bride  on  your  return  to  Washington?" 

The  Virginian  was  in  a  white  heat.  Morland  had 
compelled  Montclair,  hastily  shrinking  out  of  sight 
under  cover  of  Kitty's  presentation  as  Mistress  Morland, 
to  return  and  make  a  full  recantation  and  apology.  What 
became  of  him  afterward  none  of  the  four  knew  or  cared. 
Jeff  brought  up  their  horses,  and  two  and  two  they 
rode  quietly  back  to  Washington  through  the  crisp 
morning  air,  Jeff  ambling  joyously  in  the  rear,  his  black 
face  shining  with  delight  and  self-gratulations;  for  had 
it  not  been  his  forethought  in  warning  Emmeline  that  had 
saved  his  master's  life? 

Morland  had  not  explained  the  pistol  shots  and  the 
Don  Quixoteish  duel  of  the  oak  leaf,  partly  because  he 
did  not  wish  to  detract  from  Kitty's  joy  in  feeling  that 
she  had  saved  the  situation,  and  partly  because  — 
within  hearing  of  Montclair  —  he  did  not  care  to  tell 
the  absurd  tale;  he  did  not  believe  in  striking  even  a 
dog  when  he  was  down.  He  was  inwardly  smiling 
over  it,  however,  and  saving  it  for  a  good  story  to  tell 
to  the  two  seconds  when  he  should  some  day  get  them 

324 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    325 

to  himself.  Now  he  was  riding  by  Kitty's  side,  and 
though  there  was  little  opportunity  for  any  words  meant 
for  her  ear  alone  he  found  a  chance  to  say  to  her  hesi 
tatingly  : 

"Kitty,  did  you  mean  all  you  said  of  me  to  Montclair? 
You  must  care  for  me  a  little  if  you  believe  such  extrava 
gant  things  of  me." 

"I  have  always  thought  of  you  in  that  way  —  almost 
ever  since  I  can  remember,"  said  Kitty,  quietly. 

Morland  glanced  at  her.  She  was  looking  pale,  he 
thought,  and  her  eyes  were  down.  There  was  reason 
enough  for  the  pallor  —  this  early  morning  ride,  break- 
fastless,  and  the  excitement  she  had  been  through  were 
sufficient  explanation.  Well,  he  would  not  tease  her. 
His  foolish  elation  was  gone,  but  it  ought  to  be  joy 
enough  to  him  to  have  received  this  proof  that  Kitty 
was  of  the  stuff  he  had  always  believed  her  to  be  — 
that  when  the  test  came  she  would  never  fail. 

The  unusual  languor  and  quiet  of  her  manner  con 
tinued  all  through  the  homeward  ride.  The  Virginian, 
who  dropped  back  beside  her  once  or  twice,  thought  her 
most  attractive  in  this  mood,  and,  also,  most  unlike  the 
idea  he  had  formed  from  report  of  the  gay  Widow 
Sutherland.  He  was  inclined  to  believe  she  had  been 
much  maligned,  and  was  more  than  ever  ashamed  of 
having  been  trapped  into  supporting  her  arch  traducer. 

Randolph  and  the  Virginian  left  Morland  and  Kitty 
at  the  door  of  McCabe's.  As  Morland  was  lifting  her 
from  her  horse  Kitty  looked  up  at  him  shyly. 

"If  you  will  come  to  mother's  room  in  half  an  hour," 
she  said,  "we  can  have  breakfast  together.  I'm  sure 
you  must  need  it." 


326  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Morland  was  ravished  by  this  shy,  bewitching  Kitty. 
It  was  a  mood  he  hardly  knew  her  in,  and  it  was  the 
most  enchanting  of  all  her  moods,  he  said  to  himself. 
But  every  vestige  of  it  had  disappeared  when,  in  half 
an  hour,  he  came  down  to  Mrs.  McCabe's  parlour  and 
found  a  cozy  breakfast-table  set  for  three.  A  quiet 
word  from  Mrs.  McCabe  assured  him  of  her  grateful 
happiness  in  seeing  him  with  them  again  unhurt,  and 
convinced  him  that  Emmeline  had  betrayed  the  cause 
of  Kitty's  absence  at  the  breakfast  hour.  Whether  it 
was  the  natural  reaction  from  such  a  strain  as  the  three 
had  been  under  for  hours  —  for  Mrs.  McCabe,  watching 
at  home  alone,  had  suffered  almost  as  much  as  Kitty  — 
it  was  a  gay  little  breakfast  with  the  spirits  of  the  three 
at  the  highest  point.  There  was  no  sign  of  the  pensive 
languor  Kitty  had  shown  on  her  way  home.  She  was 
sparkling,  gay  with  little  sallies,  alternately  demure  and 

audacious. 

"I    suppose    I    must   call   you    Mr.    Morland   now," 

she  said,  demurely.    It  would  never  do  for  me  to  say 

'Senator'  or  'Major.'" 

"Of   course   not,"   said    Morland,   delighted    by   her 

ready  assumption  of  wifely  prerogatives. 

"And  since  I  'm  a  bride  I  must  have  a  trousseau. 

Mamma,  you  and  I  will  have  to  go  shopping." 

"Oh,  you  will  have  to  have  a  very  grand  trousseau, 

indeed,"   said   Morland,   enjoying   the  surprise  he   was 

about  to  give  her,  "for  the  wife  of  a  Cabinet  minister 

belongs  to  the  innermost  court  circle,  you  know,  and 

must  dress  her  part." 

"A    Cabinet    minister!"    exclaimed    Kitty    and    her 

mother  in  concert. 


JOHN  MORLAND  327 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Morland,  nonchalantly,  "had  n't 
I  mentioned  it  ?  I  'm  to  be  Minister  of  War.  But 
it 's  not  announced  yet,  and  you  must  neither  of  you 
breathe  it  until  I  give  you  leave." 

"Oh,  oh!"  said  Kitty,  clapping  her  hands  rapturously 
like  a  happy  child.  "I  'm  so  glad  I  married  you.  I 
never  thought  I  would  be  the  wife  of  a  Cabinet  minister." 

Mrs.  McCabe  and  Morland  smiled  at  her  raptures. 
There  was  nothing  offensively  mercenary  in  them  to 
either  of  these  fond  adorers  of  Kitty;  nothing  more  than 
the  naive  happiness  of  a  child  pleased  with  a  new  toy. 

"What  will  people  say  now!"  she  went  on  delightedly. 
"Kitty  McCabe  taking  precedence  of  half  the  grand 
dames  in  Washington!" 

A  little  cloud  darkened  Morland 's  happiness  for  a 
moment.  That  was  just  what  he  was  afraid  of  —  what 
would  people  say!  Not,  of  course,  that  he  cared  for 
himself,  but  for  Jackson's  administration. 

Kitty  did  not  see  the  cloud,  and  her  thoughts  had 
danced  gaily  on  to  another  point. 

"You  said  you  were  going  to  look  for  rooms  to-day. 
I  don't  think  it  at  all  proper  for  a  Cabinet  minister  and 
his  wife  to  be  living  in  rooms.  It 's  the  grandest  house 
in  Washington  you  should  be  looking  for." 

"Sure  enough,  Kitty.  How  wise  you  are!  Already 
you  know  more  about  the  duties  of  your  new  position 
than  I  do.  I  'm  a  stupid  old  fellow,  but  I  see  I  've 
done  a  good  thing  to  secure  such  a  clever  little  helpmate 
in  my  new  honours.  I  '11  tell  you  what  we  '11  do :  If 
you  and  your  mother  have  finished  breakfast  I  '11  send 
Jeff  for  a  carriage  and  we  '11  start  out  house-hunting 
at  once." 


328  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Oh,  how  lovely!"  said  Kitty,  starting  up  to  run 
away  and  make  herself  ready;  but  at  the  door  she  stopped. 

"Oh,  that  reminds  me,"  turning  a  laughing  face  to 
Morland,  "we'll  have  to  have  a  carriage  and  horses 
of  our  own  now,  I  suppose;  you  have  only  riding  horses, 
have  n't  you?" 

Morland  groaned  in  pretended  dismay. 

"I  easily  see  you  are  going  to  ruin  me  with  your  ex 
travagant  tastes,  Mistress  Morland,"  he  mocked.  "Run 
away,  please,  and  don't  think  up  any  new  thousand- 
dollar  expenditures  before  you  get  your  bonnet  on." 

But  Kitty,  who  knew  his  purse  was  a  long  one,  was 
not  abashed. 

"Oh,  but  I  will,"  she  nodded,  insubordinately,  "I  've 
already  thought  of  two  or  three  more  I  '11  tell  you  about 
when  I  come  down.  You  '11  live  to  rue  the  day  you  ever 
married  such  an  extravagant  little  piece  of  baggage  as 
Kitty  McCabe,"  and  ran  away  laughing. 

The  result  of  their  house-hunting  was  that  they  found  one 
of  the  beautiful  old  Georgetown  places  about  to  be  vacated 
by  a  retiring  member  of  the  old  cabinet,  and  Kitty  was 
given  carte  blanche  as  to  furnishings,  and  between 
ordering  and  fitting  gorgeous  new  gowns,  and  selecting 
upholsterings  and  carpets  and  curtains  and  furnishings 
of  all  kinds,  she  must  needs  keep  that  little  head  of  hers 
quite  steady  on  her  beautiful  shoulders  not  to  be  utterly 
bewildered.  In  the  excitement  of  it  all  she  found  little 
time  to  think  of  Morland,  and  Morland  saw  almost 
nothing  of  his  new  wife.  He  was  tremendously  absorbed 
in  Jackson's  affairs,  as  Inauguration  Day  drew  near, 
and  Kitty,  who  secretly  wanted  to  surprise  him  by  letting 


JOHN  MORLAND  329 

the  splendour  of  her  beautiful  gowns  and  beautiful 
house  burst  on  him  undimmed  by  preliminary  discussions, 
made  the  plea  of  not  wishing  to  "  bother"  him  as  an  excuse 
for  not  consulting  him.  There  had  been  one  exciting 
trip  to  New  York  for  the  sake  of  procuring  certain 
marvels  for  both  toilet  and  house  that  Washington  could 
not  furnish.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Kitty  had  been 
there  since  her  school-days,  and  neither  Kitty  nor  her 
mother  had  ever  before  braved  the  perils  of  the  long 
stage-coach  journey  without  a  man  to  protect  them. 
But  by  taking  a  stage  very  early  in  the  morning  they 
could  be  in  New  York  by  the  evening  of  the  second  day, 
and  so  be  out  but  one  night.  Kitty  felt  herself  quite 
equal  to  looking  out  for  herself  and  her  mother,  and  to 
Mrs.  McCabe  the  joy  of  taking  a  trip  alone  with  Kitty 
—  of  having  her  entirely  to  herself  for  a  whole  week  — 
more  than  compensated  for  the  fatigues  or  terrors  of 
the  journey. 

To  go  to  the  great  City  Hotel  in  New  York,  wonderful 
in  its  appointments  to  both  of  them,  to  visit  together 
the  great  shops  on  Cortlandt  Street  and  Broadway,  to 
turn  over  costly  laces  and  silks  and  velvets  and  choose 
at  will  with  no  fear  of  depleting  a  well-filled  pocket; 
to  buy  three  perfect  loves  of  bonnets  and  absolutely 
make  her  mother  let  her  buy  one  for  herself  also;  to  select 
a  massive  mahogany  dining-room  buffet,  chairs,  and 
table,  and  real  lace  curtains  and  a  Broadwood  piano 
for  the  drawing-room;  these  and  a  thousand  other  delights 
—  the  crowded  streets,  brilliantly  lighted  with  gas  at 
night,  a  never-failing  joy  and  wonder  to  Kitty  and  her 
mother,  used  only  to  the  smoky  oil  lamps  of  Washington; 
the  gay  shops,  the  beautiful  women,  the  elegantly 


330  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

dressed  men  staring  boldly  at  the  lovely  Kitty  —  filled 
Kitty's  days  with  joy  and  her  nights  with  happy  dreams. 

And  then  there  was  the  perilous  journey  to  be  under 
taken  again,  and  the  joy  of  feeling  that  her  return  was 
an  event  of  some  consequence,  to  be  heralded  certainly 
in  the  Telegraph,  if  not  in  the  other  papers.  If  there 
was  another  joy  to  be  looked  forward  to,  the  joy  of 
meeting  a  man  that  half  the  women  of  Washington 
regarded  as  the  handsomest  and  most  fascinating  man 
in  Washington  society,  and  knowing  that  he  belonged 
to  her  only,  Kitty  would  not  confess  it.  She  would  not 
believe  that  it  had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  tingling  of 
her  nerves  and  the  racing  of  her  blood  as  they  began 
to  draw  near  Washington.  He  met  them  at  the  Relay 
House,  as  she  knew  he  would,  and  she  gave  him  a  per 
functory  kiss  because  there  were  many  curious  eyes 
looking  on  to  see  how  she  would  greet  her  husband;  but 
Morland  felt  that  it  was  perfunctory,  and  the  joy  of 
getting  Kitty  home  again,  after  a  lonely  week  of  absence, 
was  tempered  by  a  reminder  that  never  lost  its  sting  — 
Kitty  had  married  him  because  she  must. 

Kitty's  return  to  Washington  was  more  of  an  event 
than  even  she  had  anticipated;  for  in  her  absence  the 
list  of  new  Cabinet  officers  had  been  published,  and 
society  was  in  revolt  that  the  name  of  Kitty  McCabe's 
husband  should  be  among  them. 

It  was  worse  even  than  Morland  had  dreaded.  His 
sensitive  soul  was  stung  as  by  a  thousand  venomous 
shafts  of  malignant  wasps.  To  hear  Kitty's  name 
bandied  about  with  no  way  of  putting  a  stop  to  it,  was  a 
living  death  to  him.  It  did  not  help  matters  any  that 
the  gossips  were  letting  him  alone,  afraid,  perhaps,  of 


JOHN  MORLAND  331 

attacking  openly  so  powerful  an  official;  they  were  more 
surely  wounding  him,  as  they  well  knew,  by  their  veiled 
and  open  thrusts  at  Kitty. 

He  was  glad  that  the  storm  had  broken  while  she  was 
away  in  New  York;  he  hoped  the  worst  would  be  over 
before  her  return.  She  should  see  no  papers  and  hear 
no  buzzing  of  the  hornets'  nest  if  he  could  help  it,  until 
the  angry  swarm  had  quieted  down.  He  was  successful 
for  a  while,  for  Kitty  was  plunged  into  such  a  whirl  — 
getting  her  house  in  order  and  her  gown  ready  for  the 
rapidly  approaching  inauguration  —  that  she  saw  no 
one,  and  the  papers  were  sedulously  kept  from  her. 

It  was  on  the  great  day  itself  that  the  first  envenomed 
shaft  reached  her.  She  had  been  present  at  the  inaugural 
ceremony  in  a  ravishing  costume,  distributing  smiles 
and  gay  little  nods  wherever  she  could  catch  a  friendly 
glance,  and  looking  the  picture  of  proud  disdain  whenever 
she  met  a  cold  or  malignant  one.  At  the  levee,  still  more 
ravishing,  unhatted  and  uncloaked,  she  stood  in  the 
semi-circle  of  Cabinet  ladies  beside  the  President  and 
guarded,  like  him,  by  that  cordon  of  friends  who  had 
drawn  themselves  up  before  him,  to  protect  him  from 
being  crushed  in  the  mad  rush  of  the  lawless  hordes 
determined  to  see  and  do  honour  to  the  people's  idol. 
Never  had  the  White  House  seen  such  a  spectacle  — 
the  delicate  brocades  of  chairs  and  sofas  ruined  by  the 
muddy  boots  of  hundreds  who  stood  upon  them  for 
better  vantage  ground  for  seeing;  the  lace  curtains  at 
the  windows  torn  and  draggled  by  the  impatient  crowd 
climbing  through  them,  since  they  would  not  wait  for 
slower  ingress  by  the  doors;  and  even  the  expedient  of 


332  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

carrying  great  hogsheads  of  punch  outside  to  be  dis 
tributed  on  the  lawns  failing  to  do  more  than  divert  for 
a  moment  the  mad  crowds  who  felt  that  since  the  people's 
President  was  in  the  White  House,  the  White  House 
was  at  the  riotous  will  of  the  people  to  treat  it  as  they 
would.  It  was  a  disgraceful  spectacle,  and  Kitty  hardly 
knew  whether  she  was  more  filled  with  disgust  by  the 
lawlessness  of  it  or  swelling  with  triumph  at  the  evidence 
it  gave  of  her  hero's  popularity. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  met  the  ladies  of  the  Cabinet, 
and  she  had  been  received  by  them  quite  as  well  as  she 
had  anticipated  —  with  sufficient  cordiality  from  some 
and  with  less  pointed  coldness  than  might  have  been 
expected  from  the  others.  Even  Mrs.  Calhoun  who,  since 
the  new  President  was  a  widower,  was  now,  as  the  wife 
of  the  Vice-President,  the  first  lady  of  the  land,  had 
bestowed  on  her  a  stately  bend  of  the  head  which  Kitty 
had  returned  by  an  exaggerated  curtsey  that  savoured 
a  little  of  sauciness. 

All  this  was  as  well  as  Kitty  could  hope  for,  and  much 
better  than  Morland  had  dreaded.  It  was  with  an  in 
voluntary  sigh  of  relief  that  he  turned  to  his  own  duty 
of  protecting  the  President.  He  glanced  back  at  Kitty 
frequently,  partly  to  gratify  his  eyes  with  a  glimpse  of 
her  loveliness  in  the  new  gown  that  had  burst  upon  him 
in  all  its  undimmed  splendour,  quite  as  Kitty  had  in 
tended,  and  partly  to  assure  himself  that  she  was  still 
unhurt.  Through  a  large  part  of  that  tiresome  ordeal 
of  keeping  back  the  throngs,  his  glances  at  Kitty  assured 
him  that  all  was  well.  But  there  came  a  moment  when 
he  looked  back  just  in  time  to  see  her  turn  deadly  white. 
He  feared  she  was  about  to  fall,  and  with  a  hurried 


JOHN  MORLAND  333 

word  to  the  man  next  him  to  fill  in  his  place,  he  stepped 
back  to  Kitty's  side. 

"What  is  it,  Kitty?'  You  are  tired  from  standing 
so  long;  I  will  find  some  way  of  getting  you  out  of  this." 

"Oh,  no  —  it  is  nothing" — Kitty  had  brought  her 
self  back  by  a  tremendous  effort  of  will  —  "the  air  of 
the  room  is  not  very  good,  I  suppose;  I  will  be  all  right 
in  a  minute/'' 

There  was  a  little  conscious  flurry  between  the  two 
women  who  stood  next  in  line  to  Kitty.  Morland  glanced 
at  them  sharply.  He  recognized  them  as  two  members 
of  the  new  Cabinet  circle  who  had  been  loudest  and 
most  strenuous  in  their  opposition  to  Kitty  —  or  so  it 
had  been  reported  to  him.  One  of  them  had  not  wholly 
escaped  the  breath  of  scandal  herself,  and  for  that  reason, 
doubtless,  was  all  the  more  virulent.  Morland  knew 
almost  as  well  as  if  Kitty  had  told  him  —  they  had  been 
talking  about  her,  and  she  had  overheard  them  —  per 
haps  they  had  intended  her  to  hear. 

"Kitty!"  he  said,  sternly,  "you  are  not  well,  and  you 
must  get  out  of  this." 

He  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  since  they  were 
behind  the  cordon  he  found  little  difficulty  in  getting 
her  through  back  passages  on  to  the  lawns  at  the  rear. 
Skirting  the  fringes  of  the  crowd,  he  met  a  carriage  that 
was  not  his  own  —  but  he  did  not  stop  for  that  —  put 
Kitty  in,  and  got  in  beside  her. 

"Now,  Kitty,  what  was  it?"  he  asked  quietly,  but  with 
a  ring  of  authority  in  his  voice,  as  soon  as  the  carriage 
door  closed  on  them. 

But  Kitty  was  not  going  to  tell  him.  They  were 
horrible  words  she  had  heard,  words  that  she  had  never 


334  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

dreamed  could  be  applied  to  her,  though  she  knew,  and 
guessed  at  even  more  than  she  knew,  that  there  had  been 
much  gossip  about  her.  They  were  hateful  words,  and 
at  first  they  had  frightened  her;  but  she  was  no  longer 
frightened.  She  was  seething  with  a  bitter  indignation, 
and  a  curious  kind  of  courage  had  sprung  up  in  her 
to  meet  this  deadly  thrust.  It  was  not  at  all  like  the 
flashing  and  flame-like  emotion  of  anger  and  courage 
that  she  had  heretofore  known;  it  was  hard  and  cold 
and  deadly  as  steel.  She  wanted  no  comforting  from 
Morland  for,  most  of  all,  she  did  not  want  Morland 
to  know  that  she  had  been  hurt.  So  she  answered  him 
petulantly,  which  was,  perhaps,  the  most  natural  line 
she  could  have  taken,  and  the  one  most  likely  to  disarm 
his  suspicions. 

"Oh,  nothing  was  the  matter;  why  do  you  insist  so? 
The  room  was  close  and  I  was  tired." 

He  did  not  insist  further,  but  neither  did  he  change 
his  belief  as  to  the  cause  for  Kitty's  sudden  pallor.  As 
for  Kitty,  she  recognized  that  the  gauntlet  had  been 
thrown  down,  and  she  hardened  her  heart  and  picked  it 
up.  From  that  time  on  there  was  merry  war  in  Wash 
ington,  and  Kitty  went  gaily  into  every  conflict;  and  if 
she  did  not  always  come  out  with  shining  laurels  she 
always  came  out  with  undaunted  spirit.  Morland,  a 
soldier  to  the  core,  shrank  sensitively  from  warfare  of 
this  kind,  and  would  have  liked  to  put  an  end  to  it  by 
removing  the  casus  belli.  He  went  to  Jackson  and 
begged  to  be  permitted  to  resign.  But  the  old  soldier 
would  hear  none  of  it.  He  had  espoused  Kitty's  cause 
with  all  the  ardour  of  his  nature.  "The  old  cats,"  he 
said,  glowing  with  wrath,  "hounded  my  Rachel  to  her 


JOHN  MORLAND  335 

grave  —  they  shall   not  scratch   my   little   Kitty!"   and 
Morland  was  forced  to  yield. 

But  the  enemy  had  methods  of  warfare  that  would 
have  rendered  powerless  any  other  man  than  the  hero 
of  New  Orleans.  They  gave  parties  to  which  Kitty 
was  not  invited;  they  refused  to  call  on  her;  in  a  thousand 
and  one  ways  they  attested  their  determination  to  force 
her  from  the  Cabinet  circle.  Jackson  met  their  tactics 
with  an  edict:  the  ladies  of  the  Cabinet  must  call  on 
Mrs.  Morland  and  invite  her  to  their  large  parties.  The 
ladies  stormed.  When  had  American  women  —  queens 
and  princesses  in  their  own  right  —  ever  been  subject  to 
orders! 

Kitty's  new  house  in  Georgetown  adjoined  beautiful 
Monterey,  the  home  of  the  Calhouns.  Kitty,  driving 
out  in  her  fine  new  carriage  drawn  by  spanking  bays 
in  silver-mounted  harness,  must  pass  the  gates  of  Mon 
terey,  and  more  than  once  came  upon  Mrs.  Calhoun, 
also  in  her  carriage.  Kitty  always  bowed  graciously, 
as  if  with  a  touch  of  condescension;  Mrs.  Calhoun  barely 
nodded,  or  looked  the  other  way. 

In  her  heart  this  attitude  of  Mrs.  Calhoun's  hurt 
Kitty  grievously.  She  admired  her  greatly  —  as  did 
every  one  in  Washington.  She  stood  for  what  was, 
secretly,  Kitty's  ideal  of  gracious  womanhood;  moving 
in  society  with  dignity  and  charm,  courted  and  admired 
for  her  social  and  intellectual  graces,  but  known  best 
and  admired  most  as  a  devoted  wife  and  mother.  Kitty 
would  have  liked  to  make  a  friend  of  her,  and  the  iron 
entered  her  soul  that  Mrs.  Calhoun  should  so  relentlessly 
proscribe  her  when  she  knew  herself  so  innocent  of  the 


336  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

horrible  charges  she  had  overheard  at  the  inauguration 
reception.  To  be  condemned  without  a  hearing  by  such 
a  woman  as  Mrs.  Calhoun  was  an  injustice  she  could  illy 
submit  to. 

It  was  a  lovely  April  day.  There  had  been  showers 
in  the  morning  drenching  the  fresh  green  of  early  spring 
and  making  it  visibly  grow  before  Kitty's  eyes.  She 
was  sitting  at  an  open  window  in  her  pretty  boudoir  and 
looking  out  on  the  green  lawns  of  her  own  place  and  of 
Monterey  with  the  light  shadows  cast  by  the  feathery 
foliage  of  April  lying  on  them.  Kitty  had  a  book  lying 
idly  in  her  lap  —  a  new  novel  of  Cooper's  —  and  Kitty 
was  an  inveterate  novel  reader,  and  was  charmed  by 
this  new  writer  who  was  making  as  romantic  tales  out 
of  her  own  country  as  any  that  Scott  was  making  of 
England.  But  the  book  had  no  charms  for  her  at  this 
moment.  All  the  out-doors  world,  shining  under  the 
April  sun,  was  calling  her  to  come,  and  Kitty  had  no 
where  to  go.  She  had  seen  Mrs.  Calhoun  drive  out  of 
the  gates  of  Monterey,  and  she  knew  she  was  bent  on  a 
round  of  calls.  That  was  what  Kitty  would  have  liked 
to  do  —  array  herself  in  one  of  her  pretty  new  gowns 
and  be  seen  in  her  handsome  carriage  driving  around 
the  streets  of  Washington  leaving  her  cards  at  society's 
most  exclusive  doors.  But  Kitty  very  well  knew  the 
doors  would  be  shut,  and  she  had  no  calls  to  make. 
She  must  sit  indoors  on  this  lovely  spring  afternoon  and  be 
the  only  woman  in  Washington  thus  captive.  To  be  sure, 
she  could  take  her  mother  and  Janet  to  drive,  but  she 
had  taken  Mrs.  McCabe  to  drive  for  the  last  three  after 
noons,  and  for  very  shame  she  had  hinted  to  her  that 
society  engagements  would  prevent  her  to-day.  Not 


JOHN  MORLAND  337 

for  worlds  would  she  have  her  mother  know  how  com 
plete  was  her  ostracism.  She  could  hear  Janet's  voice 
in  merry  play  on  the  lawn  below.  Janet  loved  this  new 
home  with  its  pretty  rooms  and  big  garden  with  great  trees, 
the  gay  crocuses  peeping  out  among  the  grass,  and 
daffodils  and  hyacinths  blooming  in  the  borders.  But 
she  missed  her  grandmother  sadly,  though  not  half  so 
sadly  as  Mrs.  McCabe  missed  her  little  Janet.  Kitty, 
who  missed  her  mother  sadly  also,  at  times,  had  ar 
ranged  that  she  should  dine  with  her  every  other  day, 
but  this  was  not  her  day,  and  Kitty  had  leisure  to  feel 
as  blue  and  miserable  and  rebellious  as  she  pleased. 

Enjoying  her  misery  to  the  utmost,  she  saw  from  her 
window  Mr.  Calhoun  ride  up  to  the  door  of  Monterey. 
Since  he  was  returning  home  it  must  be  later  than  she 
had  supposed,  and  Morland  would  soon  be  home  also. 
Kitty  was  too  proud  to  be  found  in  "the  dumps;"  she 
picked  up  her  book  and  began  to  read  diligently.  Pres 
ently  she  heard  Morland's  voice  in  a  romp  with  Janet, 
and  a  moment  later  his  long  stride  on  the  stairs,  three 
steps  at  a  time.  He  knocked  at  her  door  —  he  had 
never  yet  entered  her  door  without  knocking. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  entered  in  response  to 
her  "Come  in!"  "Shut  up  in  the  house  this  beautiful 
day  ?  I  had  no  idea  I  would  find  you  at  home  till  Janet 
told  me  you  were  upstairs." 

Kitty  answered  with  a  smile  that  she  had  been  buried 
in  her  story  and  had  hardly  noticed  the  weather.  But 
John,  whose  heart  was  aching  for  Kitty  these  days,  and 
who  was  sometimes  afraid  that  it  would  have  been 
better  for  her  not  to  have  married  him,  was  sure 
that  she  had  been  moping.  He  would  take  her  out 


338  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

into  the  lovely  spring  air  and  let  her  get  a  little  of 
nature's  healing. 

"The  'Deerslayer'  is  it?"  he  answered  her,  picking 
up  the  book  in  her  lap.  "Yes,  I  thought  so.  Well, 
I  'm  very  grateful  to  Mr.  Cooper  for  keeping  you  at 
home  this  beautiful  day,  for  now  we  can  have  a  horse 
back  ride.  It 's  been  many  a  week,  between  business 
and  society,  since  we  have  found  time  for  a  ride  together." 
And,  without  waiting  for  Kitty  to  assent  or  refuse,  he 
rang  the  bell  and  ordered  Brown  Bess  and  Selim  brought 
round  at  once. 

"What  right  have  you  to  do  that  without  waiting  to 
know  whether  I  want  to  go?"  asked  Kitty,  coldly.  She 
was  in  a  perverse  mood;  for  a  horseback  ride  was  the 
very  thing  she  had  been  longing  for  until  the  moment 
John  proposed  it,  when  she  found  herself  mentally 
making  a  thousand  objections. 

"Right?"  said  John  good  humouredly,  "it's  not  so 
serious  as  a  question  of  rights,  is  it  ?  But  don't  you  want 
to  go,  Kitty?" 

"No,"  said  Kitty  shortly. 

"Why  not?"  John  persisted. 

"I  'm  tired,  and  I  don't  feel  like  it  —  is  n't  that  reason 
enough?" 

John  was  not  going  to  give  it  up,  for  the  more  he  saw 
of  Kitty's  perverse  mood  the  more  sure  was  he  that  she 
needed  to  get  out  in  the  open  and  away  from  herself 
and  her  breedings.  John  often  acknowledged  to  himself 
that  his  path  with  Kitty  in  these  last  weeks  had  been  no 
path  of  roses.  But,  then,  he  had  not  expected  it  to  be 
when  he  married  her.  He  knew  Kitty  did  not  love  him, 
and  no  doubt  she  was  not  finding  her  own  path  rose- 


JOHN  MORLAND  339 

strewn.  He  must  not  forget  that  he  had  promised 
himself  that  no  thought  of  self  should  enter  into  this 
marriage  —  Kitty's  welfare  and  Kitty's  honour  and 
Kitty's  happiness  must  be  his  only  aims.  So  he  kept 
on  good-naturedly  until,  with  a  laughing  array  of  argu 
ments,  commands,  and  entreaties,  he  at  last  prevailed 
upon  her.  But  once  on  Brown  Bess,  cantering  gently 
down  the  circular  drive  in  front  of  the  house,  flinging 
backward  kisses  to  Janet  who  was  calling  "  Good-bye, 
mamma  Kitty,"  "Good-bye,  papa  Morland,"  to  them, 
Kitty's  spirits  began  to  rise  a  little.  And  then  they  passed 
the  gates  of  Monterey  just  as  Mrs.  Calhoun's  carriage 
drove  up  furiously,  Mrs.  Calhoun  sitting  erect  in  it  with 
none  of  her  usual  air  of  elegant  languor,  but  unmis 
takably  excited  —  so  excited,  in  fact,  that  she  probably 
did  not  see  the  two  riders,  certainly  she  did  not  look 
at  them,  and  they  turned  and  looked  questioningly  at 
one  another. 

"Something  must  have  happened,"  said  Kitty,  "to 
bring  her  back  in  a  little  more  than  an  hour,  and  in 
such  a  state  of  excitement.  Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Cal 
houn  has  been  suddenly  taken  ill?  He  came  home  just 
a  few  minutes  before  you." 

But  John  did  not  know,  and  they  rode  away  toward 
the  wooded  hills  behind  Georgetown,  Kitty's  spirits 
growing  lighter  with  every  mile  of  the  way  in  the  soft 
spring  sunshine,  and  John  bringing  all  his  powers  to  bear 
to  entertain  her,  amuse  and  divert  her;  and  neither 
of  them  dreaming  that,  while  they  rode,  behind  them, 
in  the  Monterey  mansion  they  had  just  seen  Mrs.  Cal 
houn  enter  in  such  excitement,  Kitty  was  being  avenged. 

Mr.    Calhoun   had   come   home   a   little   earlier   than 


340  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

usual.  To  a  man  of  his  abilities,  loving  the  heat  of 
forensic  strife  as  the  war-horse  loves  the  smoke  of  battle, 
it  was  supremely  irksome  to  preside  day  after  day  over 
the  Senate  when  he  would  have  loved  to  be  down  in  the 
thick  of  the  fight.  His  only  compensation  was  that  he 
found  time  for  reading  and  study  that  he  had  not  found 
for  years  —  not  since  he  had  entered  Congress  and  almost 
at  once  had  become  the  great  leader  of  the  Nullifiers. 
Now  that  Congress  was  not  in  session  he  spent  all  the 
long  hours  of  the  morning  and  early  afternoon  in  foraging 
in  the  Congressional  Library,  bringing  home  with  him 
such  books  as  he  needed  to  read  and  digest  at  leisure. 

He  was  glad  to  be  at  home  and  at  his  library  desk  a 
little  earlier  than  usual  to-day.  The  windows  were  open, 
but  he  hardly  noticed  the  fragrant  air  that  filled  the  room 
and  gently  stirred  the  lace  at  the  windows.  He  had  been 
seated  a  half-hour  and  was  so  buried  in  his  volume, 
from  which  he  was  making  copious  notes,  that  he  did 
not  hear  carriage-wheels  on  the  gravel  of  the  drive  nor 
did  he  lift  his  head  as  he  said  "Come  in,"  in  response 
to  a  hurried  knock.  Even  when  a  voice,  trembling  with 
indignation,  broke  upon  his  ear,  he  with  difficulty  roused 
himself  and  slowly  lifted  his  eyes  to  his  wife  standing 
beside  his  chair,  her  eyes  flashing  in  a  way  he  never 
remembered  to  have  seen  in  his  gentle  wife. 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do  about  this,  Mr.  Calhoun? 
Are  the  ladies  of  the  Cabinet  to  be  insulted  with  im 
punity  by  that  boor  in  the  White  House?" 

"What  is  it  now,  my  dear?"  he  asked,  wonderingly. 

"  Have  n't  you  heard  that  we  are  ordered  —  ordered, 
to  call  on  Mrs.  Morland?  Yes,  and  invite  her  to  our 
large  parties." 


JOHN  MORLAND  341 

'Are  you  quite  sure?"  he  asked,  slowly.  He  had 
been  inclined  at  first  to  smile  at  his  wife's  excitement, 
and  had  thought  he  could  easily  laugh  her  out  of  it. 
But  his  own  blood,  the  hot  blood  of  South  Carolina, 
stirred  at  that  word  "ordered." 

"Quite  sure.  Oh,  there  can  be  no  mistake.  I  was 
calling  on  two  of  the  Cabinet  ladies  this  afternoon  and 
they  both  told  the  same  story:  It  had  been  'intimated' 
to  their  husbands  that  it  would  be  well  for  them  to  see 
that  their  wives  called  on  Mrs.  Morland,  'for  the  sake 
of  maintaining  harmony  in  the  Cabinet.'  ' 

"I  have  not  received  any  such  orders,"  grimly,  "and 
I  suppose  that  as  wife  of  the  Vice-President  it  would 
be  more  incumbent  upon  you  than  upon  the  others  to 
call  upon  her." 

"Then  I  need  not  call?" 

Calhoun  hestitated. 

"  Do  you  believe  those  tales  of  her  to  be  true  ?  "  he  asked 
slowly. 

"Oh,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  them,  I  fear.  I  heard 
more  this  afternoon,  and  from  people  who  seemed  to 
know.  They  made  assurance  doubly  sure." 

"But  I  thought  you  always  liked  her  husband?" 

"John  Morland?  I  did  like  him.  But  like  many 
another  charming  man  who  intends  to  do  right  he  is 
weak  where  a  beautiful  and  designing  woman  is  con 
cerned.  Kitty  McCabe  has  no  heart  and  no  conscience. 
She  was  perfectly  willing  to  tread  him  down  into  the 
mire  if  by  so  doing  she  could  raise  herself  to  the  upper 
ranks  of  society." 

Calhoun  sat  long,  buried  in  thought,  before  he  spoke 
again.  His  gaze,  through  the  open  window,  rested  on 


342  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

the  blue  line  of  the  Virginia  hills  across  the  Potomac, 
but  he  did  not  see  them.  Instead,  he  saw  the  little 
Kitty  as  he  had  known  her  years  ago  at  McCabe's, 
bright-eyed  and  pert,  or  so  he  had  considered  her.  He 
saw  her,  dishevelled  but  beautiful,  rushing  into  the 
crowded  dining-room  to  fling  herself  on  General  Jack 
son's  neck;  and  he  saw  her  again,  in  a  still  more  objec 
tionable  light,  dressed  like  a  fashionable  belle  and 
dancing  like  a  ballet-girl  before  the  same  room  full  of 
men;  and  he  said  to  himself:  "Did  I  ever  hope  for 
anything  better  for  her,  knowing  her  rearing  and  her 
natural  disposition?  I  have  no  doubt  the  tales  are  all 
true  —  they  must  be  —  and  the  women  of  Washington 
are  right  to  resent  her  impudent  forcing  of  herself  upon 
them." 

Then,  in  a  flash,  the  veil  dropped  from  the  future. 
Should  he  antagonize  Jackson  in  this  —  the  recognition 
of  Mrs.  Morland  —  which  Jackson  had  seemed  to  make 
the  most  insistent  desire  of  his  heart,  he  would  be  de 
stroying  his  own  dearest  hopes  for  the  future.  It  had 
been  virtually  promised  him  that  if  he  would  consent  to 
take  the  second  place  on  the  Jackson  ticket  this  year, 
he  should  have  the  first  on  the  same  ticket,  supported 
loyally  by  Jackson's  friends,  when  Jackson  should  be 
ready  to  step  down.  He  knew  the  implacable  nature  of 
the  old  soldier;  should  he  support  his  wife  in  this  war 
against  Mrs.  Morland,  Heaven  and  earth  would  be 
moved  against  him  to  prevent  his  ever  receiving  that 
nomination  he  so  dearly  coveted  and  had  coveted  for 
years;  coveted,  not  alone  for  the  glory  of  it  to  himself,  but 
for  the  power  it  would  give  him  to  disseminate  and 
strengthen  those  views  dearer  to  him  than  any  self- 


JOHN  MORLAND  343 

glorification  —  Nullification  and  State  Sovereignty.  Here 
on  one  side  stood  the  wife  of  his  youth  in  her  unsullied 
womanhood  demanding  protection  from  what  she  re 
garded  as  unchaste  and  unclean  —  on  the  other  side 
stood  his  darling  ambition.  He  must  trample  the  sen 
sibilities  of  the  one  in  the  dust  or  put  his  knife  to  the 
throat  of  the  other. 

Mrs.  Calhoun  stood  watching  her  husband  anxiously. 
She  could  see  that  he  was  disturbed,  but  she  could  not 
know  the  tremendous  struggle  going  on  under  that 
pale,  scholarly  exterior;  nor  could  she  foresee  the  far- 
reaching  results  of  his  decision.  She  had  not  her 
husband's  seer-like  vision;  she  could  not  lift  the  veil  and 
see  Calhoun,  disappointed  in  his  hopes,  turning  with 
redoubled  zeal  to  the  propagation  of  his  theories  through 
out  his  beloved  South-land;  she  could  not  foresee,  as 
the  result  of  such  propaganda,  the  land  plunged  into 
the  throes  of  civil  war,  drenched  in  the  blood  of  its  sons, 
and  her  own  loved  South  Carolina  the  first  to  lift  the 
hostile  standard  and  the  last  to  recover  from  the  bitter 
atonement  of  fire  and  sword  and  all  the  horrors  of  misrule 
and  cruel  greed  of  gold.  If  she  could  have  seen  that  awful 
vision,  her  gentle  spirit  would  have  shuddered  and  drawn 
back  from  applying  the  match  to  so  terrible  a  confla 
gration. 

But  she  had  no  prescience  of  it,  and  it  is  probable 
Calhoun  did  not  half  foresee  its  horrors.  He  turned 
his  eyes  away  from  the  Virginia  hills  at  last,  and  let  them 
rest  on  his  wife.  She  wondered  why  they  looked  so 
sad,  and  she  did  not  understand  the  melancholy  ring 
in  his  voice  as  he  spoke  to  her  quietly. 

"My  dear,  you  are  quite  right.     Mr.  Jackson  has  no 


344    THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

control  over  your  private  actions,  and  you  need  not 
offend  your  own  sense  of  right  and  of  proper  dignity. 
You  need  not  call  on  Mistress  Morland." 

And  so  Kitty's  little  feet,  dancing  gaily  and  carelessly 
down  the  great  highway  of  life,  sometimes  tossing  dust 
into  the  eyes  of  the  wise,  and  sometimes  the  hearts  of 
men  from  out  of  her  wilful  way,  had  thrown  up,  at  last, 
a  mountain,  dark  and  formidable  and  forbidding,  and 
stretching  from  the  East  to  the  West,  over  which  the 
coming  generation  would  have  to  make  perilous  crossing, 
sword  in  hand,  before  they  could  once  more  find  their 
happy,  unriven  country  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  peace 
and  plenty  and  joy. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BARON   KRUDENER  OFFENDS   MRS.    HUYGENS 

THIS  was  the  last  of  Kitty's  days  of  depression. 
Hereafter  she  might  be  excited  or  angry  or  resent 
ful  or  gleeful;  she  was  not,  for  many  months,  at  least, 
to  sit  down  in  the  doleful  dumps  with  folded  hands. 

At  the  very  moment  she  and  John  were  dismounting 
from  their  ride,  and  Kitty  was  hurrying  into  the  house 
to  change  her  dress  for  dinner,  there  was  arriving  in 
Washington,  four  miles  away,  the  man  who,  with  an  un 
rivalled  genius  for  men  and  matters,  was  to  take  up 
the  disordered  threads  of  Kitty's  affairs  and  weave 
them  quietly  into  the  well-ordered  web  of  his  own.  Not 
that  Kitty's  affairs  would  seem  either  quiet  or  well- 
ordered,  but  there  would  be  a  master-hand  guiding  them, 
and  action  would  take  the  place  of  depression,  and  an 
offensive  warfare  carried  into  the  very  camp  of  the 
enemy  be  substituted  for  a  miserable  waiting  at  home 
on  the  defensive.  All  of  which  suited  perfectly  Kitty's 
vigorous  temperament  —  the  action-loving  temperament 
of  a  healthy  young  animal. 

Van  Buren  had  been  for  seventy  days  governor  of 
New  York.  He  had  resigned  his  seat  in  the  Senate  at 
Clinton's  death  to  take  his  great  rival's  place  in  Albany 
as  head  of  the  proud  commonwealth,  only  to  be  sum 
moned  thence  to  Jackson's  Cabinet.  He  could  not 
immediately  resign  his  office,  and  so  it  was  nearly  a 

345 


346  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

month  after  the  inauguration  before  his  arrival  in  Wash 
ington  to  assume  the  duties  of  Secretary  of  State. 

Very  likely  he  had  been  thoroughly  informed  of  the 
status  of  Kitty's  affairs  and  of  the  part  Jackson  was  taking 
in  them  before  his  arrival;  if  not,  he  took  it  all  in  with 
amazing  keenness  and  swiftness.  Almost  his  first  offi 
cial  act  was  his  knock  at  Kitty's  door  and  his  call  on 
the  wife  of  the  Secretary  of  War.  That  call,  alone, 
endeared  him  at  once  to  Jackson,  and  was  the  first  step 
on  his  road  to  the  Presidency  lying  just  eight  years  ahead 
of  him;  for  Jackson,  regarding  himself  as  the  most 
ardent  of  republicans,  was,  in  fact,  an  absolute  autocrat, 
and  had  determined  on  appointing  his  own  successor. 

But  Van  Buren  did  not  stop  at  the  call.  He  had  no 
wife  to  consult  or  offend,  and  neither  had  the  British 
Ambassador  nor  the  Russian  Ambassador.  They  three 
should  enter  into  an  offensive  alliance  in  Kitty's  behalf. 
The  British  Ambassador  had  already  given  evidence 
of  his  appreciation  of  the  charms  of  the  young  Mrs. 
Sutherland;  the  Russian  Ambassador  was  not  slow  to 
perceive  those  of  the  still  youthful  Mrs.  Morland. 

It  was  decided  that  the  British  Ambassador  should 
give  a  ball  at  the  Embassy;  and  the  doors  of  the  British 
Embassy  were  never  opened  that  all  Washington,  who 
could  possibly  command  tickets,  did  not  flock  thither. 
Kitty  was  lovely  in  her  prettiest  evening  frock,  and  the 
three  men  who  stood  highest  socially  in  Washington 
vied  with  each  other  in  showering  honours  upon  her;  to 
the  indignation  of  mothers  with  marriageable  daughters, 
since  the  three  were  also  the  most  eligible  partis  in  Wash 
ington.  The  amiable  Secretary  of  State,  who  did  not 
dance,  promenaded  with  her,  sat  with  her,  and  conducted 


JOHN  MORLAND  347 

her  to  the  supper-table.  The  two  others  —  the  aristo 
cratic  Briton  and  the  jovial  Baron  Krudener  —  both 
"stood  up"  with  her  in  the  cotillion  —  but  in  vain. 
Each  cotillion  as  it  was  formed  melted  away  when  Kitty 
came  to  take  her  place  at  the  head  of  it  —  the  outraged 
women  of  Washington  indignantly  turning  their  backs 
on  her. 

The  first  time  this  happened  Kitty  was  ready  to  sink 
with  shame;  but  the  Secretary,  the  Baron  and  the  Am 
bassador  all  rallied  to  her  support  and,  persuading  her 
to  look  on  it  in  the  light  of  a  huge  joke,  she  went  through 
the  rest  of  the  evening  in  a  spirit  of  daring  fun,  seizing 
the  opportunity  to  dissolve  cotillion  after  cotillion  by 
simply  appearing  in  it.  And  if  no  one  would  let  her 
dance  in  a  cotillion  set,  no  one  could  prevent  her  waltzing, 
and  the  three  men  saw  that  she  was  plentifully  supplied 
with  partners  to  whirl  her  up  and  down  the  long  floor, 
with  hundreds  of  eyes,  willing  or  unwilling,  watching 
the  divine  Kitty. 

She  entered  into  the  spirit  of  it  and  enjoyed  it,  but 
Morland  could  not.  He  would  have  liked  to  withdraw 
at  the  dissolving  of  the  first  cotillion,  but  Kitty  was  m 
the  "hands  of  her  friends,"  and  he  would  not  interfere. 
It  had  been  part  of  his  mental  contract  with  himself 
when  he  married  Kitty  that  she  should  be  absolutely 
free  to  go  her  own  way.  He  would  give  her  the  pro 
tection  of  his  name,  but  he  would  impose  upon  her 
neither  the  authority  of  a  husband  nor  any  other  of  the 
matrimonial  chains,  and  the  only  part  he  assigned  himself 
in  their  programme  at  this  ball  was  to  show  her  such 
honour  and  such  attention  as  he  could  find  opportunity 
for  between  the  assiduous  attentions  of  the  others. 


348  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

On  the  whole,  the  ball  had  hardly  been  the  success  for 
Kitty  that  her  friends  had  hoped,  and  the  three  con 
spirators,  realizing  this,  immediately  planned  another 
that  should  more  pointedly  distinguish  her.  Baron 
Krudener  should  give  it  this  time  at  the  Russian  Em 
bassy,  and  Kitty,  now  thoroughly  aroused,  determined 
that  in  order  to  look  the  part  and  play  it  with  the  spirit 
she  intended,  she  must  have  a  new  gown.  John  ven 
tured  on  only  one  remonstrance. 

"Is  it  quite  worth  while,  Kitty,"  he  asked  gently,  "to 
subject  yourself  to  snubs  and  insults  from  these  Wash 
ington  women?" 

"Snubs!"  retorted  Kitty,  wrathfully,  "I  think,  sir,  it 
is  I  who  do  the  snubbing!  Yes,  it  is  quite  worth  while 
to  have  the  Secretary  of  State  and  the  ambassadors  of 
Russia  and  Great  Britain  dancing  attendance  on  me 
before  their  envious  eyes." 

John  said  no  more,  and  when  the  evening  of  the  ball 
arrived  he  dutifully  went  to  his  room  to  make,  with 
Jeff's  assistance,  his  own  grand  toilet.  If  he  did  not 
know  himself  the  handsomest  man  in  Washington,  he 
was  naturally  careful  in  matters  of  dress,  and  a  little 
more  so  now,  perhaps,  than  ever,  since  his  dressing  was 
in  Kitty's  honour.  He  was  all  ready  but  his  coat,  and  he 
had  dismissed  Jeff,  when  there  was  a  knock  at  his  door 
and  Kitty's  voice: 

"Are  you  dressed?     May  I  come  in?" 

Now,  in  all  the  months  of  their  married  life,  Kitty  had 
never  once  come  to  his  room  when  he  had  been  in  it. 

"Wait  one  moment,  Kitty,"  he  answered,  hurried  into 
his  coat,  and  ran  to  open  the  door  for  her  blushing  like 
a  boy. 


JOHN  MORLAND  349 

"  I  wanted  you  to  see  whether  I  look  all  right  before  I 
put  on  my  cloak,"  said  Kitty,  coming  in  and  standing 
demurely  before  him  to  be  admired,  her  own  colour  a  little 
heightened  by  her  audacity. 

John  looked  her  over  gravely.  He  had  never  seen 
even  Kitty  such  a  vision  of  loveliness.  She  was  all 
shimmering  silver  and  shining  white.  A  high  girdle  of 
silver  set  with  brilliants  confined  the  soft  folds  of  the 
gleaming  satin  where  the  infinitesimal  waist  joined  the 
skirt  falling  in  straight,  soft  folds  to  the  silver-embroidered 
hem.  Silver  buckles  studded  with  brilliants  flashed 
from  the  toes  of  her  tiny  white  slippers,  and  silver  and 
diamond  bands  clasped  her  short  puffed  sleeves.  Her 
chestnut  curls  were  caught  up  by  a  diamond  crescent 
from  which  floated  a  long  and  waving  ostrich  plume 
of  white,  which  in  turn  held  in  place  a  short  veil  of  misty 
white,  silver  spangled.  Around  her  white  throat  flashed 
a  circlet  of  diamond  dew-drops,  and  from  the  tip  of  her 
glittering  crescent  to  the  tip  of  her  tiny  slipper  she  was 
all  a  dazzling  sparkle  and  glimmer  and  glow. 

John  looked  at  her  so  long  that  Kitty  grew  uneasy 
under  his  gaze. 

"Am  I  not  all  right?  Is  anything  the  matter?"  she 
said  at  last.  "  You  know  this  is  to  be  the  crucial  contest, 
and  I  want  no  flaw  in  my  armour." 

She  smiled  a  little  propitiatory  smile  as  she  said  it; 
she  could  not  quite  understand  John. 

"It's  flawless,  Kitty,"  he  said,  still  gravely,  "there 
will  not  be  a  man  there  that  will  not  surrender  on  sight." 

In  his  heart  he  was  saying:  She  looks  such  an  angel, 
she  must  be  one." 

"How  about  the  women?"  asked  Kitty,  archly. 


350  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Oh,  they  will  be  roused,  of  course,  to  bitterer  oppo 
sition;  but  that 's  what  you  want,  I  suppose.  It  would  n't 
be  human  nature  for  your  rivals  to  see  you  such  a  vision 
and  not  hate  you  with  a  deadlier  hatred,  would  it?" 

"Thank  you.  Yes,  of  course,  that's  what  I  like. 
And  you  are  looking  very  well  yourself,  sir.  People  will 
be  saying:  'There  go  the  handsomest  couple  in  the  room'," 
and  she  made  him  a  curtsey  and  turned  to  go. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Kitty,"  said  John,  half  hesitating, 
half  determined.  "Will  you  let  me  kiss  you  before  you 
go?  For  the  sake  of  old  times,  when  I  used  to,  you 
know.  \Vould  you  mind?" 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Kitty  indifferently  as  she  turned 
back,  and  tossing  her  head  a  little  to  emphasize  the 
indifference;  but  her  curling  lashes  were  lying  on  her 
cheek  and  her  cheek  was  a  deeper  tint  of  rose  as  she 
turned  it  to  him. 

He  had  half  a  mind  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  for  why 
had  she  come  to  his  room  looking  so  tantalizingly  beau 
tiful  if  she  had  not  been  willing  to  dare  him  to  do  it. 
The  pulses  were  leaping  madly  in  his  veins,  but  one 
thought  restrained  him.  "Kitty  does  not  love  me;  she 
married  me  because  she  must,"  he  said  to  himself,  and 
so  saying,  stilled  all  the  mad  currents  and  kissed  her 
lightly  on  her  proffered  cheek. 

"Thank  you,  Kitty,"  he  said,  teasingly,  "but  next 
time  I  'm  going  to  word  it  differently.  I  'm  going  to 
say:  'Will  you  kiss  me,  Kitty?'" 

"And  get  a  'no*  for  your  pains,"  answered  Kitty 
saucily,  and  ran  back  to  her  room  for  her  cloak. 

The  ball  was  more  of  a  success  than  the  first  in  one 
particular;  not  so  many  cotillions  dissolved  before  Kitty's 


JOHN  MORLAND  351 

advancing  steps.  For  one  thing,  she  did  not  try  to  dance 
so  often,  and  the  cotillions  she  did  dance  were  arranged 
beforehand  by  her  three  friends  —  they  saw  to  it  that 
they  were  of  sterner  stuff  or  more  friendly  than  to  melt 
at  her  approach. 

But  it  had  been  decided  that  the  supreme  effort  should 
be  made  at  supper.  As  was  customary  in  the  days 
of  our  grandmothers,  only  the  ladies  were  seated  at 
table  at  a  ball,  the  men  standing  behind  their  chairs 
seeing  that  they  were  waited  on,  and  themselves  some 
times  eating  and  drinking  as  they  stood;  or,  if  they  were 
much  given  to  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  waiting  until 
the  ladies  had  left  the  supper-room,  when  they  might 
gratify  appetite  to  the  full.  The  place  at  table  and  the 
man  assigned  as  escort,  then  as  now,  indicated  the  degree 
of  honour  to  be  conferred.  Since  the  host  was  not 
seated,  there  was  no  sitting  at  his  right,  but  Baron  Kru- 
dener  had  assigned  to  Kitty  and  to  the  wife  of  the  Dutch 
Ambassador,  the  lady  of  most  distinction  present,  the 
places  of  honour,  side  by  side,  at  the  head  of  the  long 
table. 

These  arrangements  had  been  made  without  con 
sulting  Morland;  as  usual  he  was  leaving  Kitty  to  the 
three  arch-consiprators.  It  would  be  difficult  to  say 
why  they  did  not  consult  him  —  certainly  he  was  a 
deeply  interested  party.  Perhaps  it  was  from  a  feeling 
that  he  would  shrink  from  so  much  intrigue  where  his 
wife  was  concerned;  that  if  he  had  his  way  he  and  Kitty 
would  make  themselves  as  unobtrusive  as  possible,  so 
hoping  to  escape  the  shafts  of  calumny.  But  he  could 
not  but  be  pleased  to  see  the  host  himself  conducting 
Kitty  to  the  head  of  the  table  —  after  all,  no  doubt  the 


352  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

three  men  were  right  about  it.  If  society  saw  Kitty  con 
stantly  honoured  in  high  places  and  by  the  highest  in 
the  land,  society  must  at  last  accord  her  a  recognition,  if 
only  a  grudging  one. 

It  was  also  a  pleasant  thing  to  have  his  host  come  to 
him  and  say: 

"Senator  Morland,  will  you  take  Mrs.  Huygens  out 
to  supper?  She  belongs  of  right  to  the  Secretary  of 
State,  since  she  is  the  only  wife  of  a  foreign  minister 
present,  but  Mr.  Van  Buren  has  waived  his  claims  in 
favour  of  a  'younger  and  a  handsomer  man,'  as  he  puts 
it,  and  no  doubt  the  lady  herself  will  appreciate  the 
exchange." 

Morland  regarded  the  rather  bald  compliment  on  his 
personal  appearance  as  nothing  more  than  ordinary 
pleasantry  and  the  somewhat  exaggerated  affability  of 
a  foreigner;  he  expressed  his  pleasure  and  his  sense  of 
the  honour  conferred  and  hastened  to  obey. 

But  the  lady  herself  did  not  appreciate  the  exchange. 
She  was  a  stickler  for  form,  and  when  she  saw  she  was 
not  to  be  taken  out  by  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  that 
his  substitute  was  the  husband  of  the  much-talked-of 
Kitty,  she  drew  herself  up  with  a  half-gesture  of  refusal. 
She  relented  quickly  out  of  consideration  for  Morland's 
embarrassment  should  she  decline  his  offer  of  escort, 
but  she  was  not  quick  enough  to  prevent  Morland  from 
seeing  and  understanding  her  first  involuntary  movement. 
He  felt  himself  grow  hot  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and  he 
unconsciously  stiffened  himself  as  he  offered  his  arm, 
anathematizing,  mentally,  this  whole  web  of  intrigue  of 
which  he  had  never  approved  and  into  which  he  now 
saw  himself  to  be  most  innocently  drawn. 


JOHN  MORLAND  353 

They  were  a  very  stately  couple,  and  the  eyes  of  the 
throng  pressing  after  them  to  the  supper-room  watched 
them  curiously,  quite  sure  that  it  was  as  distasteful  to 
Secretary  Morland  to  be  performing  this  office  as  it  was 
to  the  wife  of  the  Dutch  minister  to  be  accepting  it. 
Morland  had  been  informed  that  he  was  to  place  her 
at  Kitty's  side  —  he  wished  now,  with  all  his  heart,  that 
he  might  place  her  anywhere  else.  But  he  had  no  right 
to  make  any  change  in  his  host's  arrangements  without 
consulting  him,  and  that  was  now  an  impossibility.  He 
set  his  jaw  grimly  and  conducted  her  to  a  chair  at  the 
right  of  Kitty,  who  was  already  seated. 

This  was  too  much!  It  was  discourtesy  enough  that 
she  should  been  have  relegated  to  the  Secretary  of  War 
when  the  highest  was  due  her,  but  to  share  the  honour- 
seat  at  table  with  this  woman  of  whom  all  society  was 
talking  was  an  insult  direct.  Mrs.  Huygens  was  a 
beautiful  woman,  tall  and  stately;  she  drew  herself  up 
to  her  full  height,  dropped  Morland's  arm,  and  in  falter 
ing  English,  but  in  a  high  clear  voice  that  penetrated  to 
every  one  in  the  room,  she  said  to  him: 

"I  make  my  apologies  to  you,  Mr.  Morland,"  and, 
turning  to  Baron  Krudener  who  was  standing  behind 
Kitty's  chair,  "I  beg  you  will  send  my  husband  to  me 
at  once,  Baron  Krudener.  I  make  you  my  adieux." 

For  one  awful  moment  there  was  silence  that  could 
be  felt;  then  Mrs.  Huygens,  espying  her  husband  close 
at  hand,  hastened  toward  him,  and  taking  his  arm,  swept 
from  the  room,  the  Baron  accompanying  her,  profuse  in 
regrets  that  she  must  leave  before  supper,  but  making 
no  apologies.  He  returned  to  his  place  near  Kitty  and 
the  supper  went  forward  with  feverish  gaiety,  every  one 


354  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

struggling  to  ignore  the  incident  and  to  cover  it  by  either 
real  or  assumed  hilarity,  and  Kitty  herself  bubbling 
over  with  irrepressible  spirits.  Mrs.  Huygens,  ap 
parently,  had  been  but  a  torch  to  set  her  mirth,  her  wit, 
and  her  audacity  ablaze. 

Morland  was  outwardly  calm,  but  within  he  was 
experiencing  such  rage  mingled  with  distress  as  made 
it  difficult  for  him  to  think  consecutively  or  act  logically. 
He  was  keeping  his  place  near  Kitty  with  something 
of  the  air  of  a  noble  mastiff  bent  on  protecting  his  mistress 
from  danger  that  he  could  feel  was  in  the  air,  but  could 
not  see.  Van  Buren  and  the  Baron  felt  his  discomfiture 
keenly  and  had  both  come  to  his  support,  engaging  him 
in  the  light  chaff  of  conversation  that  passes  current  in 
such  a  place,  and  trying  to  make  him  forget  the  disagree 
able  contretemps  for  which  their  consciences  assured 
them  they  were  responsible.  Morland  appreciated  their 
efforts,  and  responded  to  them  to  the  best  of  his  ability, 
but  he  was  angry  with  them  both.  The  only  excuse  he 
could  make  for  them  was  that  they  had  meant  well;  they 
had  really  Kitty's  welfare  at  heart  and  were  determined 
upon  her  recognition  by  society.  But  their  efforts  were 
misdirected;  he  had  always  thought  so,  he  was  sure  of 
it  now.  Hereafter  he  would  take  matters  into  his  own 
hands;  he  would  not  leave  his  wife  at  the  mercy  of  ill- 
advised  friends. 

And  then  he  brought  his  seething  thoughts  up  with  a 
sudden  check.  His  wife!  What  authority  had  he  over 
Kitty?  He  had  never  assumed  any,  and  she  would,  no 
doubt,  resent  it  if  he  should  do  so  at  this  late  day.  He 
groaned  inwardly  and  was  conscious  of  a  sensation  of 
anger  he  had  never  believed  it  possible  to  feel  toward 


JOHN  MORLAND  355 

Kitty,  at  this  moment  more  radiantly  beautiful  than  he 
had  ever  seen  her  and  apparently  in  the  highest  spirits, 
keeping  a  crowd  of  men  behind  her  chair  in  a  tempest 
of  mirth  over  her  sallies  of  wit. 

He  had  stood  near  her  long  enough  to  show  his  loyalty, 
he  would  not  stand  there  longer  to  be  irritated  by  her 
careless  glee.  Of  what  stuff  was  she  made?  Had  she 
absolutely  no  sensibilities  that  she  should  not  seem  to 
feel  such  an  indignity?  And  if  she  did  not  care  for 
herself  ought  she  not  to  show  some  consideration  for  him 
—  some  wifely  concern  for  the  humiliation  to  which  he 
had  been  subjected?  But  he  brought  himself  up  short 
again.  He  was  not  demanding  or  expecting  "wifely 
concern"  from  Kitty,  and  it  was  an  idle  pretense  that 
he  was  suffering  for  himself;  his  only  suffering  was  the 
terrible  smart  he  felt  that  she  should  be  scorned.  He 
walked  off  down  the  table  and,  in  devoting  himself  to 
two  or  three  women  who  had  always  been  his  staunch 
friends,  tried  to  forget  Kitty. 

By  the  time  they  were  in  the  carriage  on  their  way 
home  the  turmoil  of  Morland's  thoughts  had  subsided 
sufficiently  to  allow  him  to  come  to  certain  conclusions. 
He  had  determined  that  something  was  due  his  own 
dignity.  There  was  no  use  in  talking  to  Kitty  about  it, 
but  he  would  see  the  President  and  Van  Buren  and 
tell  them  that  this  could  not  go  on. 

He  was  silent,  not  from  any  desire  to  show  his  disap 
proval  of  Kitty,  but  because  it  seemed  to  him  impossible 
to  continue  longer  the  strain  he  had  been  under  through 
the  evening  of  keeping  up  a  surface  conversation,  and  he 
would  not  talk  to  Kitty  of  the  one  thing  that  was  absorbing 
all  his  thoughts.  He  did  not  notice  for  some  time  that 


356  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Kitty  was  silent,  too.  When  he  did  at  last  rouse  himself 
sufficiently  from  his  brooding  to  take  cognizance  of  it, 
he  wondered  idly  if  Kitty's  silence  was  in  resentment 
of  his  own.  It  certainly  was  a  very  unusual  condition 
with  her  on  the  homeward  ride  from  a  ball  —  she  was 
always  full  of  a  merry  review  of  the  evening  that  here 
tofore  he  had  found  exceedingly  entertaining;  admiring 
the  way  in  which,  by  a  word  or  a  sentence,  she  mimicked 
some  pompous  man  or  fine  lady,  and  wondering  at  the 
keenness  of  her  insight  which  pierced  the  cleverest 
shams  and  detected  sterling  worth  in  the  most 
unobtrusive.  Well,  if  Kitty  was  resenting  his  silence 
he  would  make  an  effort  to  talk  to  her.  He  began 
heavily : 

"It  was  a  fine  party,  Kitty;  did  you  enjoy  it?" 

No  answer. 

"The  Baron  is  a  very  gentlemanly  fellow  and  he 
showed  you  great  distinction." 

No  answer  but  his  sentence  required  none.  He 
would  try  again. 

"I  think  I  rather  like  Mr.  Vaughan  the  better  of  the 
two,  however.  I  suppose  because  he  's  an  Anglo-Saxon. 
But  they  are  both  fine  fellows  —  which  do  you  like 
best,  Kitty?" 

No  answer;  and  by  this  time  he  was  beginning  to  be 
a  little  nettled. 

"Kitty!  Are  you  asleep?"  he  demanded  sharply, 
and  was  instantly  struck  to  the  heart.  He  had  caught 
a  little  stifled  sound  that  could  mean  but  one  thing: 
Kitty  was  weeping,  and  was  trying  to  conceal  it  from 
him.  Why  should  Kitty  be  weeping?  Had  she,  too, 
suffered  from  the  slight  put  upon  her  when  he  had  been 


JOHN  MORLAND  357 

thinking  her  so  impervious  to  such  dagger- thrusts  and 
been  angry  with  her  for  being  so  ? 

"Kitty,"  he  said,  gently,  "what  is  it?" 

But  at  the  gentleness  of  his  tone  one  uncontrollable 
sob  burst  from  Kitty. 

"You  must  not  mind  Mrs.  Hugyens,"  he  went  on, 
trying  to  comfort  her  as  be  would  a  child.  "Of  course, 
people  have  lied  to  her,  but  what  do  you  care  so  long  as 
you  have  such  friends  as  the  President  and  the  Secre 
tary  of  State  and  the  two  ambassadors  ?  Half  the 
women  in  Washington  would  change  places  with  you 
gladly." 

"Oh,   John,  don't!"  Kitty  sobbed. 

John's  heart  gave  a  great  throb  and  stood  still  for  a 
moment.  Could  he  believe  his  ears!  He  knew  Kitty 
must  know  his  name  was  John,  but  she  had  never  called 
him  anything  but  "Mr.  Morland"  since  their  marriage; 
and  before  it  had  always  been  "Major"  or  "Senator." 
She  must  think  of  him  as  "John,"  or  his  name  would 
not  have  slipped  out  so  easily  in  this  moment  of  distress. 
Kitty  herself  seemed  to  be  unconscious  that  she  had 
used  it,  and  there  was  an  appreciable  moment  before  he 
could  control  himself  sufficiently  to  say  quietly: 

"Don't  what,  Kitty?" 

"Don't  think  that  I  am  caring  for  myself!  It 's  you, 
you!  Oh,  I  could  n't  bear  to  see  that  woman  treat  you 
so!  I  never  realized  until  I  saw  her  how  I  was  exposing 
you  to  insult  and  scorn!  Oh,  it's  all  true  that  I  told 
you  before  we  were  married:  that  I  would  bring  you 
only  disgrace  and  dishonour!  Oh,  why,  why  did  you 
marry  me!" 

Kitty  had  begun  to  speak,  struggling  bravely  to  stifle 


358  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

her  sobs,  but  she  was  in  a  perfect  tempest  of  tears  and 
sobs  and  moanings  by  the  time  she  had  finished.  It 
was  dark  in  the  carriage  and  John  could  not  see  her, 
but  he  knew  she  had  shrunk  as  far  away  from  him  as 
possible  into  her  own  corner.  Her  sobs  had  redoubled 
as  soon  as  she  had  ceased  speaking,  though  he  could  tell, 
even  in  the  dark,  that  she  was  making  strenuous  efforts 
to  subdue  them.  He  turned  to  her  resolutely,  took  her 
in  his  arms,  and  drew  her  head  down  on  his  shoulder. 
He  was  a  little  surprised  that  there  was  no  resistance  on 
Kitty's  part.  He  did  not  speak  for  a  minute,  and  after 
a  little  the  sobbing  began  to  be  less  convulsive. 

"Cry  all  you  like,  dear,"  he  said,  "it  will  do  you  good. 
And  don't  think  I  care  for  Mrs.  Huygens's  treatment 
of  me  —  she  cannot  hurt  me." 

"Oh,  but  I  do  care  —  I  knew  I  ought  not  to  marry 
you!  A  year  ago  there  was  not  a  creature  in  Washington 
would  have  dared  to  treat  you  as  Mrs.  Huygens  treated 
you  to-night  —  it  is  all  my  fault  —  but  I  'm  not  going 
into  society  any  more  —  I  'm  not  going  to  subject  you  to 
such  ignominy  —  I  'm  going  to  stay  at  home  and 
read,  and  sew,  and  take  care  of  Janet." 

Kitty's  speech  had  been  very  fragmentary;  convulsive 
little  sobs  punctuating  it. 

John  laughed,  thinking  it  wise  not  to  take  her  too 
seriously. 

"And  what  am  I  to  do,  Mrs.  Penelope?  Will  you 
teach  me  to  sew  ?  Or  will  you  let  me  read  to  you  while 
you  sew?" 

"You  wIH  go  into  society  without  me  —  and  people 
will  say  —  'He  's  ashamed  of  his  wife*  —  and  it  will 
serve  me  right,"  said  Kitty,  grimly. 


JOHN  MORLAND  359 

John  thought  this  speech  deserved  no  better  answer 
than  a  little  laugh,  and  — 

"What  a  dear  little  goose  you  are,  Kitty!"  and  Kitty 
lay  quiet  for  a  moment,  the  convulsive  sobbing  stilled 
into  an  occasional  little  sigh.  Suddenly  she  lifted  her 
head. 

"Oh!  I'm  afraid  I've  ruined  your  best  coat!"  she 
exclaimed  in  dismay.  "Why  did  you  let  me  cry  on  it, 
John  ?  I  '11  take  it  to  Dinah  to-morrow  and  have  her 
sponge  it  and  press  it.  I  hope  it  isn't  ruined." 

"Don't  you  dare  take  my  coat  to  Dinah!"  said  John, 
so  sternly  Kitty  quite  cowered  at  the  sound.  "Let  my 
coat  alone,  and  if  it  needs  anything  Jeff  will  take  it  to 
my  tailor." 

Kitty  wondered.  She  had  never  supposed  before 
that  John  cared  so  much  about  clothes;  she  did  not 
altogether  like  it  in  a  man.  But  John  did  not  realize 
he  had  been  so  stern.  He  had  spoken  hurriedly  because 
he  had  been  saying  to  himself: 

"This  coat  shall  be  sacred  to  me  now  that  her  little 
head  has  rested  on  it.  And  if  her  tears  have  hurt  it  I 
will  lay  it  away  and  keep  it  just  as  it  is.  And  if  never 
again  I  shall  feel  her  dear  head  on  my  shoulder,  I  will 
take  it  out  and  look  at  it  sometimes,  and  live  over  again 
the  most  exquisite  moments  of  my  life!" 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   PRESIDENT   GIVES   KITTY   A   PARTY 


was  honest,  there  is  no  doubt  about  it,  in 
her  resolution  to  withdraw  from  society,  but 
then  it  could  not  be  called  going  into  society  to  drive 
down  on  a  lovely  October  evening,  by  the  light  of  the 
hunter's  moon  to  call  on  her  old  friend  in  the  White  House. 

Kitty  very  well  knew  that  she  was  a  great  pet  with 
the  President,  and  it  was  her  habit,  after  every  ball  or 
society  function  of  any  kind,  to  drop  in  on  him  and  give 
him  a  full  account  of  it  in  her  own  inimitable  way.  Jack 
son  enjoyed  these  recountals  exceedingly,  and  since  he 
was  debarred  both  by  his  position  and  his  health  from 
taking  part  in  balls  and  dinners  this  getting  them  at 
second  hand  from  Kitty  was  one  of  the  simple  pleasures 
of  his  life. 

It  was  October,  because,  though  Van  Buren  had 
arrived  in  the  spring  and  set  his  wires  to  working  that 
were  to  make  Kitty  the  centre  of  observation  in  Wash 
ington  society,  it  was  not  until  society  had  returned  from 
the  springs  and  the  mountains,  from  seashore  and 
country-seats,  that  the  two  ambassadors'  balls  had 
been  sprung  upon  it.  Kitty's  summer  had  been  spent 
principally  in  Washington,  since  the  Secretary  of  War 
could  not  leave  his  office  there  for  any  great  length  of 
time,  but  there  had  been  one  flying  trip  to  Morland's 
Tennessee  plantation  and  The  Hermitage,  and  there 

SCO 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    361 

had  been  several  weeks  spent  with  Janet  on  the  Suther- 
lands'  Virginia  plantation. 

Society,  of  course,  could  not  be  in  its  fullest  swing 
until  Congress  should  meet  in  December;  but  there  were 
the  foreign  legations,  and  the  members  of  the  Executive 
and  the  Judiciary;  to  say  nothing  of  the  aristocratic 
old  families  who  did  not  belong  to  Washington's  floating 
population,  and  who  regarded  themselves  as  society 
par  excellence  —  quite  enough  to  warrant  giving  balls 
and  creating  sensations,  and  getting  everything  well 
under  way,  and  Kitty  fully  recognized  by  society  before 
the  meeting  of  Congress. 

The  President's  family  were  gathered  on  that  October 
evening  in  the  big  family  living-room  at  the  White 
House.  Around  the  fireplace,  with  its  blazing  logs, 
sat  Mrs.  Donelson  and  Mrs.  Andrew  Jackson,  Jr., 
and  four  or  five  children;  the  ladies  with  their  work- 
baskets  and  the  children  playing  happily  together.  At 
one  end  of  the  long  room  sat  the  President  in  a  loose 
robe  of  flowered  cashmere  smoking  a  long-stemmed 
pipe,  and  at  his  elbow  was  Van  Buren  —  the  two  ear 
nestly  discussing  a  foreign  dispatch.  Occasionally  the 
children  at  their  play  grew  too  noisy  for  comfort,  when 
the  President  would  glance  toward  them  with  the  lovely 
smile  that  always  transfigured  his  face  when  he  looked 
at  children  and  wave  his  pipe  absently  in  their  direction. 
Then  Mrs.  Donelson  would  hush  them  quietly,  and 
the  conference  between  the  President  and  the  Secretary 
would  go  on  for  a  time  undisturbed. 

But  there  seemed  to  arise,  finally,  a  little  difference  of 
opinion  between  the  two.  Jackson  insisted  on  a  course 
which  Van  Buren  feared  would  give  rise  to  much  clamour. 


362  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"I  care  nothing  about  clamour,  sir,  mark  me!  I  do 
precisely  what  I  think  just  and  right,"  said  Jackson 
with  some  heat. 

Van  Buren  had  no  chance  to  reply  to  this  character 
istic  speech,  for  at  that  moment  the  door  was  flung 
open  and  Augustus,  the  mulatto  factotum  at  the  White 
House,  announced  with  a  flourish,  "The  Secretary 
of  War  and  Mrs.  Morland." 

Kitty  and  Morland  were  privileged  at  the  White 
House  to  be  ushered  at  any  time  to  the  family  living- 
room,  and  Kitty  ran  gaily  forward,  both  hands  out 
stretched,  and  greeted  the  President  in  the  pretty,  defer 
ential  way  she  always  used  to  the  old  hero.  Jackson 
rose  to  his  feet  and  in  his  flowered  dressing-gown,  his 
long-stemmed  pipe  in  his  left  hand,  he  received  her  with 
that  air  of  high-bred  courtesy  that  was  the  wonder  of 
all  who  saw  him,  as  if  he  were  the  polished  courtier  of 
European  courts  instead  of  a  hardy  pioneer  and  bold 
soldier  of  the  West.  Then  Kitty  must  make  her  man 
ners  to  the  ladies  seated  around  the  fire;  but  she  did  not 
tarry  long  with  them.  She  knew  she  was  no  more  of  a 
favourite  with  Mrs.  Donelson  than  with  some  of  the 
other  Washington  ladies,  and  she  was  full  of  last  night's 
ball  and  in  a  hurry  to  begin  with  her  account  of  it  to 
the  President. 

"What  a  lovely  combination!"  said  Kitty,  leaving  her 
husband  to  entertain  the  ladies  and  turning  back  to  the 
end  of  the  room  where  Jackson  and  Van  Buren  were 
still  standing,  out  of  courtesy  to  her.  "Achilles  and 
Ulysses!  And  I  suppose  you  know  you  are  not  Achilles, 
Mr.  Van  Buren." 

"  I  know  there  is  only  one  man  in  America  would  dare 


JOHN  MORLAND  363 

to  wear  that  name,"  said  Van  Buren  smiling  at  Kitty, 
"but  please,  don't  dub  me  Ulysses.  Your  titles  are 
likely  to  stick,  and  I  particularly  dislike  being  con 
sidered  wily." 

"Not  wily,  but  wise.  But  if  you  don't  like  being 
called  Ulysses  you  shan't  be.  Only,  what  shall  I  call 
you?  I  could  n't  call  you  Minerva,  could  I?" 

But  without  waiting  for  Van  Buren's  suggestion  that 
his  ordinary  name  would  do  well  enough,  as  if  struck 
with  a  sudden  dismay  she  turned  to  the  President. 

"He  has  not  been  telling  about  the  party,  has  he, 
Mr.  President?"  she  asked  anxiously.  "I  came  down 
on  purpose  to  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"No,  indeed,  Mrs.  Morland,  I  have  left  that  for  you," 
Van  Buren  interposed.  "It  needs  a  more  graphic  tongue 
than  I  carry." 

"Sit  down,  Kitty,  and  tell  us  all  about  it,"  said 
Jackson.  "I  was  sure  you  would  come,  and  Van 
and  I  have  been  trying  to  while  away  the  time  with  a  little 
stupid  business.  We  were  both  expecting  you." 

"Oh,  but  I  could  n't  do  it  justice  sitting  down.  You 
sit  down,  please,  and  I  will  show  you  how  it  was  done," 
said  Kitty.  And  as  the  President  sank  back  into  his 
chair  she  called  to  her  husband,  still  talking  to  the 
ladies : 

"Come  here  a  moment,  please,  Mr.  Morland." 

John  came  a  little  reluctantly;  he  did  n't  quite  like 
taking  an  active  part  in  Kitty's  burlesques,  but  he  saw 
no  help  for  it. 

"  Now  you  be  you,  and  I  '11  be  Mrs.  Huygens,  and 
Mr.  Van  Buren  will  be  the  Baron."  Kitty  was  now 
full  of  it,  her  eyes  dancing  with  glee.  "Now,  Baron 


364  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Krudener,  you  are  going  to  bring  up  Mr.  Morland  and 
introduce  him  to  me." 

Van  Buren  entered  into  the  plan  more  readily  than 
Morland.  He  brought  John  up  and  introduced  him  in 
the  exact  manner  of  the  Baron.  Kitty  turned  smilingly 
to  them  at  first,  but  saw  Morland,  and  started  back 
haughtily. 

"What!  not  the  Secretary  of  State?"  in  a  loud  aside. 
Then  she  turned  back  to  Morland,  took  his  arm  stiffly, 
and  led  him  up  toward  Jackson. 

"Now,  Mr.  President,  you  're  me,  you  know,  and 
Mr.  Morland  leads  Mrs.  Huygens  to  a  seat  beside  me." 

"What!  Sit  beside  that  creature!  Nevair-r-r!"  said 
Kitty,  with  true  stage  disdain.  "Meestair  Morlan',  I 
mek  you  my  apologies.  Baron  Krudener  —  adieu!" 

Kitty  turned  to  take  the  arm  of  an  imaginary  Mr. 
Huygens  and  swept  down  the  room.  She  came  back 
laughing. 

"Have  I  exaggerated,  Mr.  Secretary?" 

"Not  much,  Mrs.  Morland.  You  could  hardly 
exaggerate  it." 

Jackson  had  been  laughing  with  the  others,  thinking  it 
was  only  a  little  of  Kitty's  play,  but  at  Van  Buren 's 
reply  he  turned  to  him  sharply. 

"  Is  that  true,  Van  ?  Did  that  Dutch  woman  insult 
my  little  Kitty  in  that  way?" 

"Practically  true,"  said  Van  Buren  soberly. 

Jackson  sprang  up  and  began  to  pace  the  room  after 
his  fashion  when  strongly  moved,  his  brows  knitting, 
and  all  the  lines  of  his  face  harsher  and  deeper.  The 
oath  that  he  had  scarcely  used  since  Rachel's  death 
sprang  to  his  lips: 


JOHN  MORLAND  365 

"By  the  Eternal!  The  cats  shall  not  scratch  my  Kitty's 
face  with  impunity.  Huygens  shall  go  home!" 

Kitty  was  sober,  too,  now,  and  her  eyes  were  flashing 
in  sympathy  with  the  President's. 

"I  wish  you  would  send  them  home,  Mr.  President. 
How  dared  she  treat  Mr.  Morland  so!  It  does  n't  matter 
about  me  —  I  am  only  Kitty  McCabe;  but  he  is  a  member 
of  your  Cabinet  and  the  peer  of  any  man  on  the  two 
hemispheres!" 

John  hastened  to  interpose: 

"Not  Kitty  McCabe,  but  Mistress  Morland,  Mr. 
President,  and  I  think  neither  Mrs.  Morland,  in  a  cooler 
moment,  nor  I  would  like  to  make  the  little  affair  of 
last  night  the  talk  of  two  continents." 

Perplexity  was  not  one  of  the  emotions  Jackson  was 
used  to.  Ordinarily  he  knew  what  he  wanted  to  do, 
and  went  straight  to  the  point;  but  now  he  looked  first 
at  Morland  and  then  Kitty.  Lastly  he  turned  to  Van 
Buren,  and  doubt  was  plainly  expressed  in  his  deep-set 
eyes.  Van  Buren  answered  his  glance. 

"Mr.  Morland  is  right.  It's  not  the  kind  of  thing 
to  make  a  talk  about,  but  I  think  we  can  find  some 
other  means  of  punishing  the  Huygens." 

"We  will!"  said  Jackson  firmly.  "They  shall  at 
least  apologize." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  his  face  cleared  and 
he  turned  his  beaming  glance  on  Kitty: 

"I  have  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  will  give  a  dinner 
myself.  "I  will  invite  everybody  that  has  any  rank  in 
society  and  Kitty  shall  be  the  guest  of  honour." 

In  a  moment  he  was  full  of  his  plan,  as  eager  and 
happy  as  a  child. 


f 


366  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Emily!"  he  called  to  Mrs.  Donelson,  "will  you  ring 
for  Major  Lewis,  please,  and  Mr.  Trist?  And  we  will 
make  out  our  list  to-night  with  Kitty  to  help  us." 

"But  —  but—  "  stammered  Kitty,  "I  was  not  going 
into  society  any  more.  I  thought  I  'd  better  not." 

"Not  going  into  society!"  thundered  Jackson.  "Are 
you  a  coward,  Kitty?  Would  you  let  the  old  cats  drive 
you  off  like  that!" 

Kitty,  full  of  perplexity,  looked  at  Morland,  and  he 
came  to  her  rescue. 

"  If  I  were  you,  Kitty,  I  'd  try  it  once  more,  anyway," 
he  said,  laughing  at  her  seriousness.  "At  the  Presi 
dent's  dinner,  you  know,  they  will  have  to  behave." 

"Or  I  '11  send  them  from  the  table  like  naughty  chil 
dren,"  said  Jackson,  grimly. 

He  was  not  to  be  denied.  Lewis  and  the  secretary 
came,  and  together  they  made  out  a  list  that  included 
"everybody"  as  Jackson  had  desired.  No  occupant 
of  the  White  House  ever  set  a  more  magnificent  table 
than  did  Jackson,  and  when  a  week  later  his  eighty 
guests  sat  down  in  the  great  state  dining-room  it  was 
a  brilliant  spectacle  indeed.  Jackson  was  perforce 
compelled  to  take  in  Mrs.  Calhoun  and  seat  her  on  his 
right,  but  Kitty  was  on  his  left,  and  next  to  her  was  that 
willing  conspirator,  the  British  Ambassador;  and  next 
Mrs.  Calhoun  was  the  Secretary  of  State;  and  not  far 
down  the  table  was  Baron  Krudener.  Mrs.  Calhoun 
found  herself  in  the  heart  of  the  enemy's  camp,  and  it 
required  a  moment  of  hard  and  rapid  thinking,  after 
she  had  discovered  her  situation,  to  determine  upon  her 
line  of  action. 

An   impartial  observer,   knowing  accurately   the   con- 


JOHN  MORLAND  367 

dition  of  affairs  and  the  strained  relations  between  her 
and  the  brilliant  woman  opposite  her,  would  have  found 
her  most  admirable  —  showing  sufficient  courtesy  to 
Kitty  not  to  seem  offensive,  while  really  quietly  ignoring 
her  whenever  possible.  But  they  would  have  admired 
Kitty  also.  That  erratic  young  creature  was  in  one  of 
her  most  audacious  moods.  She  kept  her  end  of  the 
table  in  an  uproar  of  merriment  which,  yet,  never  passed 
the  line  of  decorum.  Mrs.  Calhoun  found  herself 
feeling  dazed  as  repartee,  epigram,  wit  of  every  kind 
volleyed  back  and  forth  across  the  table  from  the  Secre 
tary  of  State  to  Kitty,  back  to  Baron  Krudener  and 
returned  to  Kitty  or  to  Mr.  Vaughan,  and  all  of  it  politely 
including  her  and  calling  for  a  contribution  from  her; 
though  Kitty  and  Van  Buren  so  scintillated  with  wit 
that  she  was  too  dazzled,  as  a  rule,  to  more  than  smile 
graciously  and  try  to  catch  her  breath  before  the  ball 
of  conversation  was  flashing  back  again  on  entirely 
different  lines. 

But,  most  of  all,  this  same  impartial  observer  would 
have  admired  the  President.  While  singling  Kitty  out 
for  every  special  attention,  laughing  loudest  at  her  sallies 
of  wit,  and  beaming  with  kindly  admiration  whenever 
his  eyes  fell  on  her,  he  yet,  with  that  high-bred  air  of  his, 
never  in  the  least  seemed  to  neglect  Mrs.  Calhoun,  and 
never  failed  to  connect  the  two  in  conversation  in  the 
most  skilful  manner. 

"Mrs.  Morland,  Mrs.  Calhoun  agrees  with  you  en 
tirely,"  or,  "I  find,  Mrs.  Morland,  that  Mrs.  Calhoun 
differs  with  you  slightly  as  to  the  merits  of  that  question; 
ask  her  to  give  you  her  opinion.  You  may  find  yours 
modified  by  her  greater  experience  in  such  matters." 


368  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Kitty  seconded  this  by-play  of  the  President's  ad 
mirably,  and  was  either  all  graciousness  or  all  deference 
as  the  occasion  demanded,  until  it  became,  finally,  as 
the  dinner  went  on,  an  extreme  annoyance  to  Mrs. 
Calhoun;  but  she  only  betrayed  it  by  the  spot  of  colour 
that  deepened  steadily  in  each  cheek. 

Morland  was  seated  some  distance  down  the  table 
on  the  opposite  side  from  Kitty.  He  could  catch  fleeting 
glimpses  of  her  and  could  see  that  she  was  in  the  highest 
of  spirits  and  well  taken  care  of  by  the  President  and 
his  aides.  He  could  also  see  that  Mr.  Vaughan  had 
dropped  into  a  little  of  his  old  air  of  devotion.  He  did 
not  know  why  that  should  trouble  him,  but  it  did,  a 
little.  Except  for  that  slight  flaw,  he  was  having  a  very 
delightful  time  himself.  He  was  sitting  by  Mrs. 
Decatur  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  many  months.  Mrs. 
Decatur  had  gone  to  Paris  about  the  time  of  his  marriage 
and  this  was  her  first  appearance  in  society  since  her 
return.  He  had  been  conscious  of  a  little  uncomfortable 
feeling  in  first  meeting  her;  he  was  not  sure  what  her 
attitude  would  be  toward  Kitty,  and  he  had  always  liked 
her  and  valued  her  good  opinion. 

But  nothing  could  have  been  more  charming  than 
her  manner  of  meeting  him  —  asking  at  once  for  his  wife 
and  seeking  her  out  to  express  her  felicitations.  It  was 
one  of  Kitty's  signal  triumphs  of  the  evening,  for  it  had 
been  in  the  Blue  Room  before  dinner,  and  Mrs.  Calhoun 
had  been  standing  near.  Mrs.  Decatur  was  more  than 
cordial  to  Kitty  —  she  was  almost  affectionate  in  the  in 
terest  she  showed  in  the  young  wife  —  and  the  stamp  of 
Mrs.  Decatur's  approval  was  a  hall-mark  in  Washington 
society.  Mrs.  Decatur  had  not  been  without  method 


JOHN  MORLAND  369 

in  this.  She  had  heard  of  the  feud  that  was  rending 
high  circles,  and  she  was  determined  to  stand  by  the 
young  wife.  She  was  genuinely  sorry  for  Morland, 
whose  sensitive  soul  she  knew  and  whom  she  had  always 
liked,  and  though  she  could  not  pretend  to  judge  of  Kitty's 
past,  the  fact  that  Morland  had  married  her  proved  that 
he  believed  in  her  —  "and  that  ought  to  be  enough  for  the 
rest  of  us,"  she  said  to  her  old  friend,  General  Scott. 

The  General,  being  a  soldier  and  ardently  devoted  to 
Mrs.  Decatur,  received  her  lightest  word  as  law,  and 
was  also  one  of  those  who  hastened  to  pay  his  respects 
to  Kitty  before  dinner  in  the  Blue  Room.  All  this  pleased 
Kitty  greatly,  but  she  was  not  so  entirely  pleased  that 
Morland  should  seem  so  happily  absorbed  in  his  dinner 
partner.  She  could  not  forget  that  they  had  been  old 
friends  of  years'  standing,  and  Kitty  had  sometimes 
believed  that  there  had  been  a  tenderer  sentiment  between 
them  than  mere  friendship.  She  may  have  seemed  to 
value  John's  love  lightly  for  herself,  but  she  was  not  yet 
willing  to  see  him  too  deeply  interested  in  any  one  else. 
There  was  one  moment  in  particular,  when,  as  she  hap 
pened  to  glance  in  their  direction,  they  seemed  to  be 
deep  in  a  confidential  conversation,  and  then  they  both 
glanced  up  at  her.  Kitty  resented  being  their  theme, 
and  resented  the  glance. 

But  she  might  not  have  resented  either  so  keenly  if 
she  had  overheard,  for  Kitty  was  vain. 

"I  have  a  young  artist  friend  coming  over  from  Paris 
next  month,"  said  Mrs.  Decatur,  "and  I  want  you  to 
let  him  paint  your  wife's  miniature  —  she  is  the  most 
beautiful  creature  I  have  ever  beheld.  I  had  forgotten 
how  radiantly  beautiful  she  was." 


370  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

"Thank  you,  you  are  very  good,"  said  Morland, 
stammering  and  blushing  with  delight,  for  Kitty's  praises 
were  sweet  to  his  ears. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  Kitty  looked  up  and  caught 
the  expression  of  mingled  delight  and  embarrassment  on 
Morland's  face.  Mrs.  Decatur  glanced  at  Kitty  at  the 
same  moment. 

"Oh,  look!  look  at  your  wife,  quick!  That's  the  exact 
pose  and  the  exact  expression  if  he  can  only  catch  it!" 

Mrs.   Decatur  was  all  excitement. 

Morland  looked  up  hurriedly  and  Kitty  looked  away, 
thinking  their  excited  glances  betrayed  "conscious 
guilt,"  as  she  phrased  it. 

"There!  You  were  too  slow,"  said  Mrs.  Decatur 
with  disappointment;  "she  looked  away  too  soon.  I 
think  my  artist  friend  has  a  particular  talent  for  catching 
poses  and  expressions,  and  I  would  dearly  like  to 
see  the  one  I  just  caught  on  Mrs.  Morland's  face 
reproduced." 

"What  was  it?"  said  Morland,  laughing.  "You  make 
me  curious." 

"Oh,  I  don't  believe  I  could  describe  it,  it  was  such 
a  mingling  of  emotions;  intense  interest,  proud  disdain, 
infinite  tenderness,  infinite  haughtiness.  Her  face  was 
like  a  mirror  with  one  swift  emotion  chasing  the  other 
across  its  surface." 

Morland  was  silent  for  a  moment.  It  made  him 
tingle  to  his  finger-tips  to  think  that  "  intense  interest," 
"infinite  tenderness,"  had  been  mirrored  in  Kitty's  face 
while  looking  at  him,  but  he  reflected  with  a  sigh  that 
more  than  likely  it  was  her  neighbour  on  her  left  who 
had  called  them  forth  and  not  her  husband.  Mrs. 


JOHN  MORLAND  371 

Decatur  seemed  to  think  he  needed  convincing  as  to 
the  merits  of  her  artist. 

"I  would  like  to  prove  to  you  that  my  artist  is  all 
I  claim  for  him.  He  has  done  a  miniature  of  me,  and 
if  you  like  I  will  send  it  to  you  and  you  can  show  it  to 
Mrs.  Morland.  I  am  sure  she  will  like  him." 

Of  course,  he  was  gratified,  and  he  arranged  to  stop 
for  it  on  his  way  home  from  the  office  the  next  day,  and 
the  rest  of  the  evening  was  for  Morland  an  unusually 
pleasant  one,  between  his  agreeable  partner  who  admired 
his  wife  and  the  absence  of  those  distressing  batailles  des 
dames  that  had  marked  the  two  balls. 

If  Morland  had  had  any  lurking  hopes  that  his  ride 
home  with  Kitty  from  this  dinner  might  in  some  way 
duplicate  the  ride  home  from  Baron  Krudener's  ball 
they  were  very  quickly  dispelled.  Kitty  might  have 
been  an  acquaintance  made  that  evening  who  was 
amiably  trying  not  to  appear  bored  on  her  homeward 
ride;  so  polite  was  she,  so  formal,  so  patently  making 
an  effort  to  be  entertaining. 

Morland  was  at  first  amused  -at  this  new  freak  of 
hers,  but  when  he  attempted  to  laugh  at  her  she  turned 
so  frigid  that  he  gave  up  being  amused  and  became, 
by  turns,  hurt  and  indignant.  He  had  been  quite  full 
of  the  miniature,  intending  to  seize  the  first  chance  to 
tell  Kitty  all  the  extravagant  things  Mrs.  Decatur  had 
said  of  her,  being  very  sure  they  would  please  her.  But 
with  Kitty  in  this  mood  he  very  soon  lost  all  desire  of 
pleasing  her,  and  they  separated  at  Kitty's  door  with  a 
quiet  "Good-night,  Kitty,"  from  him  as  he  went 
on  to  his  own  rooms,  and  a  cold  "  Good-night,  Mr.  Mor 
land,"  from  her,  as  she  closed  her  door  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  DISSOLUTION   OF   A   CABINET 

TT  WAS  an  epoch-making  day  in  Morland's  life,  and 
•*•  it  began  badly. 

He  picked  up  the  paper  at  the  breakfast-table  and 
almost  the  first  paragraph  that  met  his  eye  was  a  veiled 
stab  at  Kitty.  Not  so  heavily  veiled  but  that  one  familiar 
with  the  old  gossip  would  readily  recognize  the  Secretary 
of  War  and  his  wife  in  the  references  to  "the  peculiar 
relations  existing  between  two  prominent  members  of 
the  court  circle  before  their  marriage." 

He  succeeded  in  so  strangling  in  a  cough  the  exclama 
tion  that  rose  to  his  lips,  that  Kitty  did  not  suspect  him 
of  anything  more  than  he  confessed  to,  when  she  saw 
him  take  out  his  pocket-knife,  carefully  cut  the  para 
graph  from  the  paper,  and  fold  it  away  in  his  vest  pocket. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  she  asked  curiously. 

"Cutting  out  an  item  that  may  be  of  use  to  me,"  he 
answered  carelessly. 

No  sooner  had  he  safely  disposed  of  the  obnoxious 
paragraph  than  his  eye  fell  upon  a  curious-looking  letter 
lying  beside  his  plate.  It  was  curious  from  the  style 
of  the  chirography  which  seemed  to  demand  that  he 
open  it  instantly,  and  he  obeyed  the  silent  summons. 
To  his  intense  disgust  it  proved  to  be  that  most  offensive 
weapon  of  the  low-minded  against  those  in  high  places 
—  an  anonymous  letter  —  and  this  one  was  the  vilest 

372 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND     373 

of  its  type.  Not  that  he  stopped  to  read  it,  but  it  was 
brief  and  his  eyes  took  in  almost  at  a  glance  some  of  its 
sentences:  "Revenge  is  sweet,  and  I  have  you  in  my 
power,  and  I  will  roast  you,  and  boil  you,  and  bake  you; 
and  I  hope  you  may  live  long  to  prolong  my  pleasure. 
Lay  not  the  flattering  unction  to  your  soul  that  you  can 
escape  me.  I  would  not  that  death  or  any  evil  thing 
should  take  you  from  my  grasp  for  half  the  world." 

He  did  not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  the  paragraph 
and  the  letter  were  the  work  of  the  same  hand,  nor  did 
he  for  a  moment  doubt  that  the  hand  was  Montclair's. 
He  crumpled  the  letter  hastily  into  his  pocket  but  he 
had  not,  this  time,  succeeded  so  well  in  strangling  his 
expletive  of  mingled  astonishment  and  disgust,  and 
Kitty's  suspicions  were  aroused 

He  succeeded  in  parrying  her  questions  fairly  well, 
averring  that  he  had  received  a  troublesome  business 
communication  and  would  have  to  be  starting  for  the 
department  at  once,  if  he  walked  down  as  he  intended. 
Kitty  pushed  her  questionings  no  farther.  She  was  vaguely 
troubled  by  Morland's  manner,  but  she  had  been  more 
or  less  troubled  quite  often  of  late  by  the  political 
situation,  and  she  did  not  doubt  that  this  morning's 
letter  had  some  connection  with  that.  She  knew  that 
a  storm  had  been  brewing  for  weeks;  she  only  hoped 
that  Morland's  letter  did  not  mean  that  it  was  about  to 
break. 

Kitty  knew  a  little  of  the  difficulties  in  the  political 
situation,  but  she  did  not  by  any  means  know  all.  She 
knew  that  three  of  the  Cabinet,  with  the  Vice-President 
at  their  head,  were  on  one  side  of  an  unbridged  chasm, 
and  the  remaining  three,  with  the  President  at  their 


374  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

head,  were  on  the  other  —  and  that  she  represented  the 
chasm.  She  knew  that  so  far  no  means  had  been  found 
to  bring  them  closer  together;  what  she  did  not  know 
was  that  even  the  official  relations  of  these  six  Cabinet 
members  had,  through  the  wars  of  their  women-kind, 
grown  so  strained  that  Cabinet  meetings  were  becoming 
an  intolerable  burden.  Jackson  stormed  and  fumed; 
made  demands  that  the  recalcitrant  members  refused 
to  consider;  and  now  was  very  seriously  considering  a 
dissolution. 

In  the  week  following  that  ride  home  from  Baron 
Krudener's  ball  Morland  had  found  himself  on  more 
confidential  terms  with  Kitty  than  ever  before.  He  had 
talked  over  the  situation  with  her  as  he  had  not  hereto 
fore,  and  he  had  tried  to  give  her  some  hint  of  the  pos 
sible  event  that  she  might  not  be  wholly  unprepared 
for  it.  He  was  afraid  Kitty  would  not  enjoy  being  rele 
gated  to  private  life  after  a  brief  taste  of  official  honours, 
but  he  himself  thought,  and  Van  Buren  agreed  with 
him,  that  the  only  way  to  get  rid  of  the  three  Cabinet 
ministers  who  had  made  themselves  thoroughly  ob 
noxious  to  Jackson  from  the  stand  they  had  taken  on 
Kitty,  was  for  Morland  himself  to  resign.  Van  Buren, 
who  had  been  foremost  in  Kitty's  defense,  would  also 
resign.  This  would  leave  the  three  malcontents  no 

o 

alternative  but  to  do  the  same  from  very  shame.  For 
Van  Buren  a  place  was  prepared.  The  present  Minister 
to  Great  Britain  should  be  recalled  to  take  a  seat  in  the 
Cabinet  and  Van  Buren  should  be  sent  to  Great  Britain. 
It  would  be  a  point  of  advantage  from  which  to  work 
the  Presidential  lever;  for  both  Jackson  and  Van  Buren 
had  determined  that  Van  Buren  should  be  Jackson's 


JOHN  MORLAND  375 

successor  at  the  end  of  Jackson's  second  term.  And 
though  the  first  and  most  cogent  reason  for  Van  Buren's 
resignation  was  to  break  the  cabal  against  Kitty,  it 
added  a  powerful  argument  for  it  that  Jackson  had 
once  said  no  member  of  his  Cabinet  should  be  his  suc 
cessor,  and  Van  Buren,  once  out  of  the  Cabinet  and 
Minister  to  England,  would  get  rid  of  his  strongest 
handicap. 

But  no  place  had  been  prepared  for  Morland.  This, 
for  himself,  would  not  have  troubled  Morland  —  he 
had  always  his  Tennessee  plantation  to  return  to  and 
no  doubt,  in  time,  he  would  be  sent  back  to  the  Senate 
—  but  the  thought  of  how  Kitty  might  like  being  de 
graded  to  the  ranks  did,  at  times,  trouble  him  greatly. 

The  letter  and  the  paragraph  in  the  paper  had,  for 
the  time,  driven  from  his  mind  the  affair  of  the  miniature 
which  he  had  fully  intended  to  speak  of  to  Kitty.  This 
was  the  second  morning  after  the  President's  dinner, 
and  the  day  before  he  had  called  on  Mrs.  Decatur,  as 
he  had  promised,  and  brought  her  miniature  home  with 
him  to  show  Kitty.  There  had  been  no  opportunity 
the  evening  before  to  broach  the  subject  to  her,  since 
he  had  found  on  his  return  home  that  Kitty  was  giving 
an  informal  dinner  herself,  and  since  his  call  on  Mrs. 
Decatur  had  made  him  unusually  late  and  there  was 
only  time  before  dinner  for  making  a  hurried  toilet. 
He  might,  however,  have  found  time  at  least  to  mention 
it  to  Kitty  and  offered  it  as  an  excuse  for  his  tardiness, 
but  for  the  fact  that  Kitty  was  still  keeping  up  that 
same  little  air  of  cool  aloofness  that  had  annoyed  him 
so  on  the  ride  home  from  the  White  House.  He  was 
more  or  less  afraid  of  Kittv  in  this  mood,  or,  at  least, 


376  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

he  did  not  like  to  tackle  this  mood  of  her's  unless  he  felt 
that  he  had  plenty  of  leisure  to  do  it  in  the  most  skilful 
way;  and  he  had  a  vague  feeling,  a  sort  of  woman's  in 
tuition,  since  he  had  no  reason  for  the  feeling,  that  anything 
connected  with  Mrs.  Decatur  would  not  be  a  pleasing 
topic  to  Kitty;  in  which  case  her  cool  aloofness  would 
probably  become  a  bristling  chevaux  de  frise. 

Swinging  along  through  the  brisk  October  air,  his 
eyes  resting  with  unconscious  pleasure  on  the  scarlet 
and  gold  glory  of  the  October  hills  unrolling  themselves 
along  his  path,  his  thoughts  were  anything  but  attuned 
with  the  bright  beauty  of  his  surroundings.  He  loved 
this  walk  from  his  home  to  the  War  Office,  little  more 
than  three  miles  away,  taken  while  the  morning  was 
still  fresh  and  with  the  ground  firm  beneath  his  feet, 
as  it  was  sure  to  be  in  these  cool  October  days.  He 
never  failed  to  take  it  when  the  weather  permitted,  and 
his  brisk  walk  in  the  morning  and  his  swift  gallop  home 
in  the  afternoon  on  Selim's  back  were  no  doubt  largely 
responsible  for  that  abundant  physical  vigour  which 
gave  brightness  and  keenness  to  his  glance,  bronzed 
his  cheek  with  the  glow  of  health,  and  showed  in  the 
graceful  and  alert  movement  of  every  muscle. 

Usually,  on  these  walks,  his  thoughts  kept  pace  with 
his  steps,  looking  forward  to  and  planning  the  affairs 
of  the  day  with  eager  alertness  or  glancing  happily  back 
over  the  events  of  the  past.  But  to-day  his  thoughts 
were  laggard.  He  had  believed  himself  to  be  making 
progress  toward  winning  Kitty's  love  in  the  week  in 
tervening  between  the  ball  and  the  White  House  dinner, 
but  the  last  two  days  had  set  him  farther  back  than 
ever.  There  was  no  use  in  trying  to  deceive  himself  — 


JOHN  MORLAND  377 

he  had  always  hoped  that  this  marriage,  which  he  had 
claimed  to  be  so  entirely  disinterested,  would  in  some 
vague  future  win  him  Kitty's  love.  Now  he  saw  that 
hope  growing  dim  and  the  strain  was  beginning  to  be 
too  great  for  him.  He  could  not  live  beside  her  every 
day,  dazzled  by  her  beauty  in  all  its  protean  phases, 
bewildered  by  the  swiftness  of  her  changing  moods, 
charmed  alike  by  her  sweetness  and  her  coldness,  her 
aspect  of  angel  and  of  shrew  —  for  Kitty  could  be  both 
in  swift  metamorphosis  —  he  could  not  dwell  with  this 
creature  of  sunshine  and  tempest,  of  smiles  and  frowns, 
of  laughter  and  tears,  of  melting  moods  and  freezing 
ones,  without  finding  himself  every  day  more  hopelessly 
entangled  in  the  meshes  of  her  charms,  and  more  help 
lessly  at  the  mercy  of  her  moods.  Did  she  but  glance 
pleasantly  toward  him,  his  heart  beat  wildly  with  hope; 
did  she  speak  coldly  to  him  it  sank,  lead-weighted,  in 
despair. 

It  was  no  life  to  be  living;  he  had  been  a  fool  ever 
to  have  thought  himself  strong  enough  to  undertake  it. 
If  it  had  accomplished  its  purpose  he  believed  he  could 
have  grimly  borne  it;  but  instead  of  setting  Kitty  se 
curely  above  the  shafts  of  scandal  and  slander  it  had 
only  made  her  a  shining  mark  for  their  envenomed 
darts.  Kitty  in  obscurity  might  have  lived  down  the 
lying  gossip,  but  Kitty  on  the  heights  was  a  constant 
goad  to  the  envious  —  they  would  never  let  her  alone 
until  they  had  torn  her  from  her  high  estate  and  bedraggled 
her  in  the  mire.  Yes,  Kitty's  insight  had  been  clearer 
than  his  when  she  had  declared  that  this  marriage  would 
not  save  her,  but  ruin  him. 

He  was  striding  along  now  at  a  tremendous  pace,  for 


378  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

his  furious  thoughts  were  goading  him  on.  What  would 
he  not  give  to  be  able  to  crush,  once  and  forever,  that 
viper  Montclair,  whose  vile  paragraph  in  the  morning 
Telegraph  and  viler  anonymous  letter  had  roused  his 
smouldering  wrath  to  a  white  flame!  He  turned  into 
a  side  street  to  make  a  short  cut  to  his  office  and  came 
face  to  face  with  Miss  Dayton.  Some  swift  changes 
in  her  expression  at  this  unexpected  meeting  —  alarm, 
shame,  hatred  —  came  upon  him  as  a  revelation.  In 
a  flash  he  knew  it  was  not  Montclair,  but  Miss  Dayton, 
that  was  responsible  for  paragraph  and  letter,  and  he 
believed  he  understood  her  motives.  He  had  always 
known  her  to  be  infatuated  with  Montclair  and  insanely 
jealous  of  him.  Since  the  duel  Montclair  had  not  been 
seen  in  Washington  society;  no  doubt  Miss  Dayton 
believed  that  Kitty's  marriage  had  driven  him  into 
seclusion,  and  she  was  taking  the  only  revenge  her  small 
soul  could  suggest  on  Kitty  and  on  Kitty's  husband. 

He  was  about  passing  her  with  a  distant  acknowledg 
ment  when  this  swift  revelation  came  to  him,  and  with 
it  as  swift  a  resolution.  He  stepped  directly  in  front 
of  her,  thus  barring  her  progress  and  compelling  her  to 
stop. 

"Miss  Dayton,"  he  said  gravely,  "I  have  something 
to  say  to  you.  Will  you  permit  me  to  walk  with  you  a 
little  way?" 

At  finding  herself  so  suddenly  held  up,  and  at  the 
gravity  of  Morland's  tone,  Miss  Dayton  turned  a  ghastly 
white.  Then,  in  a  swift  revulsion  of  feeling,  an  angry 
flood  of  colour  deluged  her  face  and  she  spoke  haughtily. 

"I  know  of  nothing  you  could  wish  to  say  to  me,  sir, 
and  I  prefer  not  to  be  seen  in  your  company." 


JOHN  MORLAND  379 

"I  think  you  know  of  what  I  wish  to  speak,"  said 
Morland  sternly.  "I  will  not  inflict  myself  upon  you 
longer  than  necessary,  but  unless  you  spare  me  these 
few  moments  I  fear  the  results  may  be  serious." 

Miss  Dayton  turned  white  again  at  his  menace,  hesi 
tated  a  moment,  then  seemed  to  yield  to  necessity. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  she  said,  struggling  to  speak  calmly, 
"but  be  as  brief  as  possible,  if  you  please." 

Morland  turned  and  walked  by  her  side  and  began 
his  attack  with  no  preliminary  skirmishing. 

"You  understand,  of  course,  Miss  Dayton,  that  it  is 
of  the  paragraph  in  this  morning's  paper  and  the  anony 
mous  letter  I  received  in  my  morning's  mail  that  I  wish 
to  speak." 

"I  understand  nothing,  sir,"  she  interrupted  hotly. 
"What  have  I  to  do  with  your  morning  paper  or  your 
morning  mail?" 

"Unfortunately  for  yourself,  a  great  deal.  I  think  I 
can  control  the  future  utterances  of  the  Telegraph.  Mr. 
Duff  Green  would  not  care  to  have  a  libel  suit  on  his 
hands,  and  to  save  himself  he  would,  of  course,  reveal 
the  author  of  the  paragraph  and  turn  the  libel  suit  over 
to  her.  More  than  that,  I  think  I  can  promise  a  correc 
tion  and  an  apology  in  to-morrow's  paper.  Perhaps 
it  would  be  just  as  well  that  the  author  of  the  paragraph 
should  herself  send  in  the  correction  and  the  apology 
to  ]V£r.  Green;  it  might  save  some  unpleasantness." 

"You  are  assuming  a  great  deal,"  said  Miss  Dayton 
defiantly.  "I  know  nothing  about  the  paragraph  you 
are  talking  of." 

"Possibly,"  Morland  returned  curtly.  "But  you 
cannot  deny  the  authorship  of  the  letter  in  my  pocket  and 


380  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

which  I  am  about  to  put  into  the  hands  of  the  Post- 
office  Department  as  basis  of  prosecution  against  the 
author.  You  know,  probably,  that  the  fine  and  penalties 
are  very  severe  in  the  United  States  Courts,  that  the 
government  does  not  permit  the  sanctity  of  its  mails 
to  be  tampered  with  with  impunity  —  to  say  nothing  of 
the  unpleasant  publicity  of  such  a  prosecution." 

Miss  Dayton  glanced  at  Morland's  coat  as  if  she  medi 
tated  tearing  the  letter  from  his  pocket,  but  she  only 
said  doggedly : 

"You  have  no  proof." 

"Proof  that  will  be  sufficiently  convincing  to  any 
United  States  jury,"  said  Morland  coolly.  "Moreover, 
I  intend  to  write  by  to-day's  mail  to  Mr.  Montclair,  in 
closing  the  paragraph  and  a  copy  of  the  letter  and  asking 
him  to  use  his  influence  with  you  to  prevent  any  further 
outrages  of  the  kind.  I  have  not,  heretofore,  held  the 
highest  opinion  of  Mr.  Montclair,  but  I  believe  he  is 
sufficiently  a  gentleman  to  be  unwilling  to  descend  to 
such  weapons  for  the  sake  of  revenge,  or  to  approve 
of  their  use  in  the  hands  of  his  friends." 

This  last  shot  told.  Miss  Dayton  stopped  short  in 
her  walk,  and  for  a  moment  Morland  could  think  of 
nothing  but  a  tigress  at  bay;  her  eyes  emitting  hot  and 
angry  flashes,  her  lips  curling  tightly  back  from  her 
white  teeth,  and  her  nostrils  dilated  and  quivering. 

"You  would  be  a  fool  for  your  pains,"  she  snarled, 
"he  never  loved  Kitty  McCabe!" 

Morland  had,  perforce,  stopped  also. 

"I  agree  with  you;  he  never  did,"  he  said  with  exas 
perating  coolness.  "But  Mrs.  Morland,  when  she  was 
Miss  McCabe,  and  several  times  in  later  years,  had 


JOHN  MORLAND  381 

occasion  to  snub  Mr.  Montclair,  and  with  a  man  of 
that  stamp  wounded  vanity  has  much  the  same  effect 
that  wounded  love  has  on  others." 

"It's  a  lie!  a  lie!"  exclaimed  Miss  Dayton,  fiercely, 
now  wholly  beside  herself.  "Kitty  McCabe  snub  Harold 
Montclair,  indeed!  She  has  been  ready  to  drop  into 
his  arms  at  a  sign  from  him  for  years.  I  've  no  doubt 
she  will  still  be  ready  when  he  returns  to  Washington." 

This  was  too  much  for  Morland. 

"  Miss  Dayton,"  he  said,  sternly.  "  I  had  hoped  your 
good  sense  would  lead  you  to  make  the  correction  and 
apology  I  have  suggested,  and  that  you  would  give  me 
your  promise  that  there  should  be  no  more  paragraphs 
or  anonymous  letters;  in  which  case  I  would  not  have 
been  compelled  either  to  write  to  Mr.  Montclair  or  to 
put  your  letter  in  the  hands  of  the  post-office  authorities. 
I  see  that  I  was  mistaken  in  you,  and  I  shall  immediately 
do  both." 

He  turned  to  go  without  glancing  at  her,  but  she  put 
a  hand  out  and  touched  his  arm  timidly.  He  turned 
back  and  was  almost  shocked,  as  his  eyes  fell  on  her,  at 
the  sudden  transformation.  In  that  moment  she 
seemed  to  have  visibly  shrunk  and  dwindled,  and  years 
of  scorn  and  suffering  had  left  their  shameful  ravages 
on  her  white,  drawn  face. 

"Mr.  Morland,"  she  said,  speaking  with  a  painful 
effort  at  self-control,  "do  not  write  that  letter,  and  de 
stroy  the  one  you  have  in  your  pocket.  I  will  send 
Mr.  Green  a  correction  and  an  apology  that  will  satisfy 
you,  and  you  need  fear  no  further  paragraph  or  letter 
from  me.  I  shall  leave  Mrs.  Morland  alone  hereafter." 

Morland   had  not  been   prepared   for  such  complete 


382  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

submission.  Her  utter  meekness  almost  aroused  in 
him  a  sense  of  pity.  How  she  must  fear  and  love  that 
scoundrel!  He  could  easily  have  pitied  her  but  for  a 
fierce  sense  of  indignation  against  her  that  she  should 
have  wrought  such  suffering  for  Kitty,  for  whom  he 
was  feeling  at  this  moment  an  almost  intolerable  burden 
of  mingled  pity  and  tenderness.  It  was  something 
that  Miss  Dayton  had  promised  to  start  no  new  fires 
of  scandal,  but  who  was  to  put  out  the  mighty  confla 
gration  she  had  already  kindled  and  which  had  long 
since  got  beyond  the  control  of  any  human  agency. 
Perhaps  in  time  the  fierce  fires  might  burn  themselves 
out  if  no  fresh  fuel  were  added,  and  at  last  his  little 
Kitty  might  know  rest  and  peace;  but  the  freshness  and 
fragrance  of  youth  would  be  gone;  nothing  could  restore 
her  unsullied  name,  no  one  give  her  back  the  position 
and  honour  in  society  of  which  she  had  been  unright 
eously  despoiled.  No,  he  could  not  forgive  this  base 
creature  groveling  in  the  dust  before  him,  and  he  spoke 
more  sternly  than  at  first. 

"I  will  take  your  word  for  it,  Miss  Dayton,  that  you 
will  carry  out  the  agreement  as  to  the  Telegraph,  and 
will,  as  you  promise,  refrain  from  all  further  persecution 
of  Mrs.  Morland.  I,  on  my  side,  will  carry  out  my  part 
of  the  contract:  I  will  not  write  to  Mr.  Montclair  and  I 
will  destroy  your  letter,"  and  then,  with  the  innate 
Puritanism  that,  though  a  Southerner  born,  was  bred 
in  his  fibre  and  bone,  he  added  solemnly: 

"Go,  Miss  Dayton,  and  perhaps  a  life  spent  in  true 
repentance  and  godly  sorrow  for  the  ruin  and  desolation 
of  a  beautiful  young  life  may  win  for  you  at  last  forgive 
ness  from  your  Creator  whom  you  have  most  offended." 


JOHN  MORLAND  383 

He  turned  and  left  her,  but  her  ashen  face,  the  mute 
appeal  of  her  remorseful  eyes  haunted  him  and  he  turned 
back  to  her.  She  was  standing  just  as  he  had  left  her, 
one  hand  half  outstretched  as  if  to  call  him  back  and 
her  gaze,  shamed  but  imploring  forgiveness,  fixed  on  him. 
Who  was  he  to  judge  or  to  condemn?  He  came  quite 
close  to  her  and  spoke  gently: 

"Miss  Daytcn,  neither  vengeance  is  mine  nor  forgive 
ness.  Shun  one  and  seek  the  other  from  Him  to  whom 
they  both  belong.  But  if  you  care,  also,  for  the  forgiveness 
of  an  erring  mortal  like  yourself,  then  know  that  you 
have  both  his  forgiveness  and  his  pity." 

As  he  began  to  speak  her  eyes  fell  before  him  and  the 
slow  colour  mounted  steadily  till  it  reached  to  the  roots 
of  her  hair.  By  the  time  he  had  finished  tears  were 
running  unchecked  down  her  face  and  her  whole  frame 
was  shaken  by  convulsive  sobbing.  Morland  believed 
this  was  a  safe  mood  in  which  to  leave  her,  and  he 
walked  quickly  away  toward  the  War  Office. 

Once  there  he  found  still  another  blow  awaiting  him. 
He  had  known  it  was  coming,  but  he  was  hardly  expect 
ing  it  so  soon,  and  his  nerves  felt  as  if  they  had  been 
stretched  and  hammered  this  morning,  and  could  illy 
endure  any  more.  A  note  from  Van  Buren  said  to  him 
that,  in  a  conference  with  the  President  the  evening 
before,  they  had  both  decided  that  the  step  they  had 
considered  together  had  better  be  taken  at  once.  Van 
Buren  inclosed  a  copy  of  his  own  letter  of  resignation, 
but  he  said  it  seemed  advisable  that  Morland  should 
present  his  first,  and  he  begged  him  to  send  it  that  very 
morning,  that  his  own  might  not  be  delayed. 

Morland  read  over  the  inclosed  copy  with  a  feeling  of 


384  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

unfeigned  admiration  for  Van  Buren's  political  sagacity. 
It  was  a  masterly  effort,  and  it  was  virtually  putting 
himself  in  nomination,  offering  himself  as  candidate,  at 
least,  for  Jackson's  succession.  The  reason  that  he  gave 
for  not  being  able  to  remain  in  his  Cabinet  was  that  since, 
against  his  wish,  he  was  being  prominently  talked  of  as 
a  successor  to  the  President,  he  felt  that  the  admini 
stration  would  be  weakened,  should  he  be  retained 
in  the  Cabinet,  by  the  criticism  of  his  official  acts 
naturally  arising  in  the  minds  of  those  preferring  some 
other  candidate. 

It  was  a  long  paper  and  Morland  read  it  through 
carefully.  He  laid  it  down  and  for  a  few  moments  sat 
buried  in  thought.  "Well,  the  die  is  cast,"  he  said  to 
himself.  Van  Buren's  bark  sinks  but  to  another  sea  — 
first  the  embassy  to  England  and  then  the  Presidency  — 
but  what  is  to  become  of  mine? 

He  roused  himself  and  set  himself  to  write  his  letter 
of  resignation.  It  had  been  all  carefully  talked  over 
with  Van  Buren  and  Jackson;  he  knew  exactly  what  to 
write  and  it  occupied  him  only  a  few  minutes  —  it  was 
not  so  long  as  Van  Buren's. 

He  summoned  a  messenger  and  sent  it  to  the  President 
and  sent  another  messenger  to  call  a  carriage.  Jeff  and 
Selim  would  not  be  at  the  War  Office  before  two  o'clock, 
and  he  was  going  home.  He  had  done  enough  for  one 
day;  the  routine  work  could  safely  be  left  to  his  assistants; 
he  would  go  and  break  the  news  to  Kitty. 

As  he  waited  for  the  carriage,  which  seemed  long  in 
coming,  he  was  conscious  of  two  insistent  sensations. 
The  first  was  that  he  was  a  much-abused  man,  and  he 
counted  over  to  himself,  grimly,  the  shocks  he  had  sus- 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND    385 

tained  this  morning:  the  paragraph  in  the  paper,  the 
letter,  the  meeting  with  Miss  Dayton,  the  demand  for 
his  resignation. 

But,  sore  and  uncomfortable  as  these  four  blows  had 
left  him,  he  knew  that  it  was  from  no  one  of  them  that 
he  was  at  this  moment  experiencing  his  keenest  suffering. 
It  was  that  second  sensation  that  was  benumbing  all  his 
faculties  and  taking  from  him  the  resistance  that  had 
supported  him  under  each  successive  blow.  And  that 
second  sensation  was  the  dread  he  felt,  amounting  almost 
to  terror,  at  he  thought  of  telling  Kitty  that  the  Cabinet 
was  dissolved. 


CHAPTER  VII 
MRS.  DECATUR'S  MINIATURE 

KITTY  stood  behind  the  lace  curtains  of  her  boudoir 
window  watching  Morland  swinging  ,away  toward 
Washington,  whose  domes  and  spires  shone  dimly 
through  the  light  haze  of  the  October  morning.  Why 
she  was  watching  him,  or  what  she  was  thinking  as  she 
watched,  would  have  been  difficult  to  determine  from 
her  expression.  Discontent  sat  gloomily  on  her  beautiful 
face,  and  her  merry  gray  eyes  were  sombre  beyond 
belief  of  those  who  had  only  seen  them  dancing  and 
sparkling  at  balls  and  dinners. 

As  a  curve  in  the  road  hid  him  from  view  she  turned 
away  from  the  window  with  a  light  sigh  and  began  to 
walk  aimlessly  about  between  her  bedroom  and  her 
boudoir,  taking  up  the  articles  on  her  toilet-table  as  with 
the  idea  of  rearrangement,  but  laying  them  down  in  the 
same  spot  again;  flicking  an  invisible  fleck  of  dust  from 
the  top  of  a  tall-backed  chair;  scrutinizing,  with  a  house 
wife's  eye,  the  arrangement  of  tester  curtains  and  valence 
curtains  on  her  high  four-poster  bed,  and  all  the  time 
saying  over  and  over  to  herself:  "He  was  never  so 
late  in  coming  home  before  —  and  the  afternoon  after 
the  dinner  at  the  White  House!  He  must  have  stopped 
to  see  Mrs.  Decatur." 

She  had  not  seen  the  exterior  of  the  letter  that  had 
so  disturbed  him  at  the  breakfast-table;  if  she  had,  she 

386 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND     3S7 

could  not  for  a  moment  have  suspected  it  to  be  from 
Mrs.  Decatur.  She  had  not,  at  first,  had  any  such  sus 
picions,  but,  as  she  sat  down  in  her  low  sewing-chair 
beside  her  work-table  and  took  from  its  deep  receptacle 
a  little  garment  that  she  was  fashioning  for  Janet,  she  had 
hardly  taken  more  than  ten  stitches  when  her  hands 
with  her  work  sunk  helplessly  in  her  lap,  as  a  quick 
suspicion  flashed  into  her  mind. 

"It  must  have  been  from  her,"  said  Kitty,  entirely 
unconscious  that  she  was  speaking  aloud,  "and,  no 
doubt,  he  was  walking  so  fast  because  he  wanted  to  get 
time  to  call  on  her  and  answer  her  note  in  person  before 
it  was  necessary  to  get  to  the  office." 

To  do  Kitty  justice,  she  was  ashamed  of  her  suspicions 
when  she  picked  up  her  sewing  again  and  began  to 
work  feverishly;  she  knew  it  was  unworthy  of  her  and 
unjust  to  John  —  but  then,  jealousy  is  usually  unjust 
and  always  unreasoning,  and  Kitty  was  in  a  terribly 
unreasonable  state  of  mind.  She  went  over  every 
incident  of  the  dinner  party,  dwelling  most  on  Mrs. 
Decatur's  beauty  and  air  of  distinction,  and  the 
apparent  absorption  of  John  in  Mrs.  Decatur  and 
Mrs.  Decatur  in  John. 

Janet  came  in,  after  a  while,  for  her  morning  romp 
with  her  mother,  but  Kitty  could  only  engage  in  it  in  a 
half-hearted  way,  and,  after  a  while,  she  sent  Janet  out 
with  Emmeline  to  play  in  the  garden.  She  was  a  notable 
housekeeper  and  the  hour  had  now  arrived  when  it  was 
her  custom  to  go  over  the  house  and  see  that  the  servants 
had  made  everything  spotlessly  clean,  and  to  discuss 
with  Dinah,  the  cook,  the  arrangements  for  the  following 
day.  She  put  away  her  sewing  reluctantly  —  it  was 


388  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

easier,  in  her  present  frame  of  mind,  to  sit  and  sew  and 
brood  over  her  "wrongs"  than  to  bestir  herself  in  active 
duties  and  in  consultations  with  the  servants,  which 
must  necessarily  take  her  thoughts  from  herself.  Kitty 
was  usually  briskness  itself  in  her  household  employ 
ments,  but  she  went  about  them  this  morning  in  such  a 
laggard  spirit  that  it  was  close  on  the  hour  of  noon  when, 
finally,  she  reached  John's  door.  His  room  was  always 
the  last  in  her  tour  of  inspection,  and  usually  it  had 
been  a  pleasant  task  to  her  to  see  that  this  room,  above 
all  others,  was  in  the  perfection  of  order.  It  would 
have  astonished  him,  and,  no  doubt,  given  him  other 
sensations  also,  if  John  had  known  the  wifely  interest 
and  pleasure  Kitty  took  in  seeing  that  every  drawer 
and  shelf  and  hanging  wardrobe  were  most  neatly 
arranged  by  her  own  deft  hands;  that  the  papers  on  his 
desk  and  the  books  on  his  table  were  her  own  peculiar 
care;  and,  most  of  all,  that  she  allowed  no  one  but  herself 
to  touch  that  corner  given  up  to  his  smoking  parapher 
nalia  —  the  stand  with  its  boxes  of  cigars  and  jars  of 
smoking  tobacco;  the  rack  with  its  pipes  of  every  size 
and  shape  and  colour. 

She  had  a  half  mind,  this  morning,  not  to  go  in  there 
at  all.  No  doubt  it  looked  well  enough  —  the  servants 
would  not  dare  to  neglect  that  room  of  all  the  rooms 
in  the  house,  since,  on  the  rare  occasions  on  which  she 
had  discovered  lapses  in  its  neatness,  she  had  proved 
to  them  that  an  indulgent  mistress  could,  at  times,  be 
a  most  severe  one.  But  she  conquered  her  reluctance, 
turned  the  knob  and  opened  the  door,  and  immediately 
felt  that  she  had  received  a  slap  in  the  face.  There, 
occupying  the  most  prominent  place  on  John's  dressing- 


JOHN  MORLAND  389 

table,  was  a  miniature  of  a  beautiful  woman,  and  Kitty 
had  no  need  to  come  near  enough  to  distinguish  the 
features  to  know  that  it  was  Mrs.  Decatur. 

Her  first  feeling  was  of  blind  anger.  The  brazenness 
of  it!  Did  he  suppose  she  never  came  into  his  room, 
or  did  he  want  to  insult  her?  Kitty  well  knew  that 
such  a  token  of  friendship,  from  its  costliness  alone, 
would  not  be  given  to  a  mere  acquaintance;  she  could 
readily  see  that  it  was  the  work  of  an  artist  of  distinction 
and  the  frame,  set  with  jewels,  was  a  gift  for  princesses 
to  make.  But  she  knew,  too,  that  its  money  value  was 
as  nothing  compared  with  the  significance  of  giving  the 
reproduction  of  one's  self  to  a  man,  and  so  life-like  was 
this  reproduction  that  the  eyes  seemed  to  smile,  and  the 
lips  about  to  speak,  and  the  beautifully  modelled  neck 
and  arms  to  be  of  warm  and  glowing  flesh  and  blood. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  throw  the  picture  on  the 
ground  and  stamp  on  it  and  destroy  it  in  her  blind  fury. 
But  Kitty  was  proud,  and  her  pride  held  her  anger  in 
check.  No,  neither  John  nor  Mrs.  Decatur  should 
ever  know  that  she  cared.  She  deliberately  sat  down 
before  the  miniature  and  looked  at  it  long  and  question- 
ingly.  Without  doubt  it  was  the  picture  of  a  very 
beautiful  woman,  but  Kitty  knew  herself  to  be  as  beautiful, 
and  she  had  only  to  lift  her  eyes  to  the  mirror  before  her 
to  prove  it.  Certainly,  also,  there  was  an  air  of  distinc 
tion  about  this  charming  portrait  that  was  better  than 
beauty,  but  Kitty  had  been  often  told  that  she,  too, 
had  a  most  distinguished  air.  Yes,  there  was  something 
else  besides  beauty  and  distinction  in  that  picture:  there 
was  a  lovely  soul  shining  from  the  soft  eyes,  and  the 
lines  of  the  face  were  modelled  by  strength  and  purity 


390  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

of  character.  Kitty  was  afraid  her  own  soul  was  not  as 
beautiful  as  it  ought  to  be  —  she  had  thought  so  little 
about  her  soul,  being  taken  up  so  greatly  with  the  things 
of  time  and  sense.  And,  as  for  character,  she  did  n't 
believe  she  had  any  strength  of  character;  she  was  a 
piece  of  thistledown  blown  about  by  every  zephyr.  Oh, 
if  she  could  only  be  different!  If  she  could  be  more  like 
Mrs.  Decatur!  She  was  the  woman  John  ought  to 
have  married.  And  then,  she  fell  to  wondering  why 
he  had  not,  and  suddenly,  she  remembered!  How  could 
she  ever  have  forgotten  it?  John  had  sacrificed  himself 
to  save  her!  She  had  known,  at  the  time,  that  he  did 
not  love  her,  but  she  had  thought  then  it  did  not  matter 
so  much.  The  French  made  marriages  of  convenience 
—  wrhy  should  not  she  ?  Sometimes,  since  her  marriage, 
she  had  half  believed  he  did  love  her;  perhaps,  in  time, 
he  might  grow  to  be  as  fond  of  her  as  most  men  were  of 
their  wives,  though,  for  that  matter,  he  had  always 
shown  himself  fond  of  her  and  tender  of  her  and  thought 
ful  for  her,  with  the  same  fondness  and  tenderness  and 
thoughtfulness  she  had  learned  to  rely  on  years  ago 
when  she  was  only  little  Kitty  McCabe.  It  had  not 
occurred  to  her  that  he  might  easily,  all  this  time,  have 
been  loving  some  one  else  with  a  very  different  kind  of 
love,  and  that  possibly  he  had  had  to  sacrifice  his  love 
and,  perhaps,  the  love  of  that  other  woman,  when  he 
undertook  to  save  her  from  the  lying  gossip  that  she 
knew  her  own  thoughtlessness  and  wilful  acts  were 
largely  responsible  for. 

And,  at  that  thought,  Kitty  burst  into  tears.  Anger 
was  all  gone,  pride  was  all  gone,  there  was  nothing  left 
but  heartrending  sorrow  and  vain  regrets.  And  much 


JOHN  MORLAND  391 

of  the  sorrow  and  all  of  the  regrets  were  for  John.  Why 
had  she  come  into  his  life  only  to  ruin  it?  It  should  not 
be  ruined!  She,  herself,  would  mend  it.  Theirs  had 
never  been  a  •  real  marriage,  she  would  tell  John  she 
wanted  him  to  set  her  aside,  to  legally  divorce  her  — 
oh,  vile  and  horrid  word !  —  and  then  marry  Mrs.  De- 
catur.  At  that  thought,  she  wept  a  few  bitter  tears  for 
herself  alone,  and  then  brightened  a  little.  John  would 
never  consent  to  it;  of  that  she  was  sure.  But  her  tears 
and  her  sobs  returned  with  redoubled  violence.  John 
must  be  set  free,  and  her  only  way  to  accomplish  it  was 
to  take  Janet  and  run  away,  leaving  a  note  to  tell  him 
why,  and  that  she  would  never  —  never  come  back. 
No  one  but  her  mother  should  know  where  she  had 
gone  —  her  precious,  precious  mother,  whom  she  could 
trust  even  with  a  secret  like  that.  When  she  had  found 
a  place  where  she  and  Janet  could  live,  she  would  write 
her  mother;  and  then  she  would  go  to  work.  She 
would  teach  singing  and  dancing  and  French,  and, 
if  she  could  not  eke  out,  with  all  her  labour,  quite 
enough  to  keep  herself  and  Janet  alive,  her  mother 
would  help  her. 

By  the  time  she  had  worked  out  the  minutest  details 
of  this  noble  elopement  she  was  about  to  make  for  John's 
sake,  Kitty  was  in  such  an  agony  of  grief,  heartrending 
sobs  convulsing  her  and  rivers  of  tears  flowing  from 
her  beautiful  eyes  —  and  all  from  the  purest  self-pity  — 
that  she  did  not  hear  a  step  in  the  corridor  outside,  nor 
a  hand  on  the  knob.  John,  opening  the  door  quietly, 
as  was  his  wont,  stood  transfixed  on  the  threshold.  He 
had  been  dreading  this  interview  with  Kitty,  but  at  sight 
of  her  in  such  an  abandon  of  grief  —  her  head  bowed 


392  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

on  his  dressing-table,  Mrs.  Decatur's  miniature  clasped 
in  her  hands  —  wonder,  anxiety,  alarm,  put  to  flight 
every  thought  of  dread.  He  stood  irresolute  on  the 
threshold  a  moment,  and  then  he  stepped  forward. 

"Kitty!"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  deepest  concern,  "What 
is  it?" 

At  his  first  word  Kitty  sprang  to  her  feet  and  faced 
him,  the  tears  brimming  from  her  startled  eyes  and 
entirely  oblivious  of  the  picture  still  tightly  clasped  in 
her  hands.  At  sight  of  her  anguish-stricken  face  all 
John's  long-restrained  passion  of  tenderness  broke  loose. 
What  did  it  matter  that  Kitty  did  not  love  him?  He 
loved  Kitty  and  he  must  comfort  her.  He  took  her 
swiftly  in  his  arms  —  he  held  her  close. 

"Kitty!  My  darling!  My  little  love!  My  wife  I 
What  is  it?" 

Kitty  thrilled  at  every  endearing  word  and  most  of 
all  at  his  "My  wife,"  uttered  in  tones  of  inexpressible 
tenderness,  but  none  the  less  she  struggled  to  free  herself 
and  spoke  angrily. 

"You  have  no  right  to  use  such  words  to  me,  sir!  You 
do  not  love  me,  and  it  is  not  I  who  should  be  your  wife 
—  it  is  Mrs.  Decatur." 

And  the  strong  grasp  of  John's  arms  having  slackened 
at  the  sound  of  her  angry  voice,  she  sprang  away  from 
him  and  extended  Mrs.  Decatur's  picture  toward  him 
at  arm's  length  with  the  true  air  of  a  tragedy  queen. 
But  Kitty  was  not  thinking  of  airs  —  it  was  all  very  real 
and  terrible  to  her,  and  she  was  quite  sure  her  heart  was 
breaking  while  she  was  uttering  those  words  that  John 
would  have  to  resent  even  if  he  loved  her;  they  were 
probably  sealing  her  doom  and  preparing  the  way  for 


JOHN  MORLAND  393 

that  final  separation  from  him,  and  she  ought  to  be  glad 
for  his  sake,  but  oh,  she  could  not  be! 

Neither  did  it  strike  John  as  play-acting  —  it  was  all 
very  real  and  terrible  to  him,  too.  Also,  there  was 
something  very  puzzling  about  it,  for  John  was  slow  of 
grasping  an  entirely  new  conception,  and  this  one  of 
Kitty  that  was  gradually  penetrating  his  brain  and  his 
heart  was  so  entirely  new!  So  wholly  different!  Could 
it  be  possible?  Could  Kitty  be  jealous?  And  what 
did  jealousy  argue,  if  not  love?  At  this  point  John 
uttered  a  great  cry.  It  was  his  soul  bursting  its  prison 
bonds  and  shouting  aloud  for  joy: 

"Kitty!     You  love  me!" 

He  gathered  her  to  his  heart  with  such  strength  and 
such  passion,  no  mortal  could  have  doubted  longer. 
Kitty  did  not  doubt  —  at  last  she  knew. 

And  Mrs.  Decatur's  miniature  lay  on  the  floor  for 
gotten  by  both  of  them. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   WORLD    WELL   LOST 

WHETHER  it  was  half  an  hour  later  or  an  hour, 
neither  John  nor  Kitty  could  have  told.  It 
seemed  ages  that  they  had  been  sitting  side  by  side  on 
that  deep  davenport,  the  chief  ornament  of  John's  rather 
severe  room.  What  had  they  not  talked  of  in  the  century 
they  had  been  sitting  there  together  —  if  they  were  to 
count  time  by  their  emotions  ?  The  wonder  of  it  would 
never  cease  to  Kitty  that  John  had  loved  her  all  this  time 
passionately  and  devotedly;  that  he  had  had  to  school 
himself  every  day  and  hour  not  to  let  her  discover  it. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  so  when  you  asked  me  to 
marry  you?"  she  demanded  with  delightful  sternness. 
"I  always  supposed  you  married  me  either  from  a  ro 
mantic  generosity,  to  save  my  reputation,  or  from  a  canny 
care  of  your  own." 

"Oh,  Kitty!"  John's  exaggerated  horror  might  have 
moved  Kitty  to  smiles  another  time,  but  not  now.  "You 
could  not  think  I  would  sacrifice  you  to  save  my  repu 
tation.  Say  you  never  thought  it." 

"I  didn't  think  it  often,"  said  Kitty,  candidly,  "but 
sometimes  I  did;  because  you  said  so,  you  know,  and  I 
was  brought  up  to  trust  you  implicitly." 

"Who  brought  you  up?"  asked  John. 

"  I  believe  I  never  was  brought  up  —  I  grew,"  said  Kitty, 
soberly,  thereby  antedating  a  famous  speech  in  fiction. 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND     395 

Whereupon  John  proceeded  to  make  a  more  wonderful 
discovery  than  Kitty's  had  been. 

"When  did  you  begin  to  care  for  me,  Kitty  ?"  he  asked, 
timidly. 

"Before  I  can  remember,"  said  Kitty,  softly,  her 
curling  lashes  veiling  her  eyes,  where  tender  memories 
were  brooding. 

"What?  No  coquetries,  Kitty,  and  no  parables!  I 
really  want  to  know,"  said  John,  severely. 

Kitty  sat  erect  and  turned  to  look  into  John's  eyes. 
In  so  doing  she  freed  herself  from  his  encircling  arm, 
and  he  possessed  himself  of  her  hand  instead.  She 
could  hardly  bear  his  glowing  glances,  but  she  had 
something  she  wanted  to  say. 

"John,"  she  said,  resolutely,  and  then  she  stopped 
and  threw  in  a  little  parenthesis.  "Oh,  how  delightful 
it  is  to  be  able  to  say  'John'  just  as  much  as  I  like!  To 
think  I  have  missed  so  many  months  of  it!" 

John  shook  his  head  dolorously. 

"But  go  on,  dear;  when  did  you  first  want  to  call  me 
'John'?" 

"I  would  n't  say  it  to  any  one  but  you,"  began  Kitty, 
and  then  she  saw  how  foolishly  that  sounded  and  floun 
dered  a  little.  "I  mean  —  of  course,  I  wouldn't  say  it 
to  any  one  but  you  —  but  I  mean  —  if  you  were  not 
just  the  kind  of  man  you  are,  I  would  n't  say  it  to  you; 
but  you  would  n't  misunderstand  me." 

"Of  course  not!"  said  John  soberly;  and  he  could 
not  resist  drawing  her  a  little  closer  to  him;  Kitty  in 
this  femininely  inconsequential  mood  was  irresistible. 
But  she  drew  away  from  him  again. 

"Don't,   John,   please!      Wait   'till   I've   finished.     I 


390  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

may  shock  you  greatly."  And  then  she  hurried  on: 
"If  you  had  asked  me  to  marry  you  any  time  before 
Mrs.  Adams's  ball  to  General  Jackson  I  would  have 
married  you,  for  though  then  I  had  never  thought  of 
loving  you,  or  of  you  loving  me,  I  know  now  that  the 
mingled  feelings  I  had  always  had  for  you  —  admira 
tion,  honour,  trust,  confidence  —  were  something  quite 
different  from  ordinary  friendship  and  needed  only  a 
word  to  fuse  them  into  love." 

"Oh,  Kitty,  Kitty!"  John  groaned,  seeing  in  a  flash 
how  his  own  stupidity  had  been  responsible  for  Kitty's 
troubled  career  as  wife  and  widow. 

"Wait,  please,"  said  Kitty,  putting  the  most  beautiful 
hand  in  the  world  —  firm  and  soft  and  white,  and  ex 
quisitely  modeled  —  over  John's  lips,  "it's  shocking 
enough  to  confess  having  loved  a  man  before  he  ever 
thought  of  loving  me,  but  you  will  be  still  more  shocked 
before  I  have  finished." 

And  such  a  lovely  colour  flamed  up  into  her  cheeks 
as  she  spoke,  that  no  man  in  the  world  could  have  resisted 
doing  what  John  did.  Whereupon  Kitty  pushed  him 
away  and  retreated,  pouting,  but  more  beautifully  rosy 
than  before,  to  the  other  end  of  the  davenport. 

"  Now,  stay  exactly  where  you  are  until  I  have  finished," 
she  commanded,  "or  you  shall  not  hear  a  word  more. 
But  perhaps  you  don't  care  about  hearing?  Perhaps 
I  bore  you?"  cunningly. 

John's  only  answer  was  a  look,  but  it  seemed  con 
vincing.  Kitty  went  on,  with  her  eyes  on  her  hands  in 
her  lap  nervously  toying  with  a  filmy  handkerchief  as 
she  talked. 

"You  know  how  much  in  love  I  was  with  my  husband. 


JOHN  MORLAND  397 

Even  after  he  began  —  to  do  badly  —  and  when  —  for 
weeks  and  months  I  did  not  hear  from  him,  I  still  loved 
him,  or  tried  to.  But  I  would  get  very  angry  and  resent 
ful  and  hard,  at  times,  and  think  it  was  no  use;  and  if 
he  did  not  care,  why  should  I?  And  then  I  would  try 
to  amuse  myself  with  that  man  —  whose  name  I  shall 
never  utter  again!"  said  Kitty,  in  a  white  flame  for  a 
moment;  "and  then  you  would  look  at  me  reproach 
fully,  or  perhaps  you  would  speak  to  me  and  I  would 
be  in  a  towering  rage  because  I  could  not  bear  to  have 
you  think  ill  of  me.  And  sometimes  I  knew  you  must 
imagine  me  a  great  deal  worse  than  I  really  was,  and 
that  made  me  reckless  and  I  tried  to  shock  you.  Oh, 
I  was  always  thinking,  '  What  will  he  think  of  me  ? '  and 
trying  to  defy  you  and  hurt  you. 

"And  then  came  Will's  death,  and  it  was  such  a  shock! 
I  thought  God  was  punishing  me  for  —  for  —  thinking 
so  much  about  you.  And  then  you  went  away  for  the 
Summer,  and  I  tried  not  to  think  of  you  once,  and 
only  think  of  Will,  but  sometimes  I  could  n't  help  it; 
and  when  I  came  back  to  Washington  in  the  fall,  and 
that  man  began  to  ask  me  to  ride  with  him,  I  was  glad 
to  go,  for  I  thought  that  would  help  me  to  forget  and  — 
I  had  not  heard  a  word  from  you  all  summer.  I  thought 
perhaps  it  would  punish  you  a  little  when  you  came 
back  and  heard  about  it. 

"And  then  you  came  back  and  bought  Brown  Bess 
for  me,  and  I  thought  perhaps  you  did  care,  a  little. 
And  then  that  day  you  saw  me  riding  on  Brown  Bess 
with  him,  and  I  was  terribly  mortified  at  first  and  then 
furious  because  you  could  have  thought  me  capable  of 
deliberately  betraying  your  trust.  And  I  sent  for  you 


398  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

to  come  to  mother's  room;  and  there  was  just  one  moment 
when  —  when  —  I  thought  —  you  were  going  to  tell 
me  you  loved  me  —  and  you  did  n't  —  and  I  was  humili 
ated  and  angry;  and  I  said  to  myself,  you  should  never 
have  another  chance,  though  I  knew  you  would  never 
want  it.  And  then  you  went  away,  suddenly,  because 
Mrs.  Jackson  died,  and  while  you  were  away  I  heard  a 
dreadful  thing  that  people  were  saying  about  you,  so 
I  went  everywhere  with  that  other  man  and  would 
hardly  look  at  you  when  you  came  back,  so  that  people 
might  know  it  was  false.  And  then,  at  last,  you  asked 
me  to  marry  you,  and  I  knew  that  you  had  heard  it,  too, 
and  that  was  the  reason  you  were  asking  me,  and  that 
you  did  n't  love  me  a  bit;  and,  oh,  it  broke  my  heart  to 
have  you  ask  me  when  you  did  n't  love  me  and  I  loved 
you  so  —  so  —  hard!" 

And  here  Kitty  had  to  struggle  with  tears  and 
John  moved  swiftly  toward  her,  but  she  held  him  back. 

"And  all  these  long  months  since  our  marriage  you 
never  once  said  that  you  loved  me,  though  I  could  see, 
sometimes,  that  you  were  sorry  for  me,  and  that  only 
made  me  angry.  And  then,  at  the  dinner-party  the  other 
night,  for  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  reason 
you  did  not  love  me  was  because  you  loved  some  one 
else.  And  then  —  this  morning  —  I  went  into  your 
room  —  and  there  was  —  her  —  miniature  —  and  oh, 
oh,  oh!"  said  Kitty,  and  could  no  longer  keep  back  the 
storm  of  tears,  and  no  longer  tried  to  keep  back  John, 
who  was  in  a  madly  ecstatic  frame  of  mind  at  this  dis 
closure  —  that  Kitty  had  loved  him  so  long. 

It  took  some  time  for  Kitty  to  be  fully  comforted, 
and  for  John's  raptures  to  subside  sufficiently  to  let  him  act 


JOHN  MORLAND  399 

again  like  a  sane  man  —  though  it  seemed  long  to  neither 
of  them  —  and  then  John  bethought  himself  that  he 
still  had  that  disclosure  to  make  that  he  had  so  much 
dreaded.  He  no  longer  dreaded  it  in  the  same  way, 
but  it  seemed  cruel  to  interrupt  the  bliss  of  this  hour 
with  tidings  that,  no  matter  how  bravely  Kitty  might 
take  them,  could  not  but  give  her  pain;  yet  he  knew 
that  the  papers  would  soon  be  full  of  it  and,  no  doubt,  even 
at  this  moment  rumours  of  it  were  flying  about  the  city 
and  any  chance  might  bring  them  to  Kitty;  and  he 
wanted  to  tell  her  himself,  to  soften  it  as  best  he  could, 
and  console  her  if  she  should  need  consolation. 

Lifting  her  hand  to  his  lips,  he  began: 

"What  a  little  hand  it  is,  Kitty,  to  have  such  tremen 
dous  power." 

"Power?"  inquired  Kitty,  not  understanding  him. 

"Yes,  power.     Do  you  know  what  people  are  saying?" 

that  it  is  not  Calhoun  that  will  be  the  next  President 

—  as  every  one  supposed  a  year  ago  —  but  Van  Buren, 

and   that  it  is  all  Mrs.   Morland's  doings  —  that  it  is 

her  hand  that  is  guiding  the  'Ship  of  State*  just  now." 

"Do  they  say  that?"  asked  Kitty,  pleased  for  the 
moment,  as  any  woman  might  have  been  —  or  any  man, 
either  —  to  have  such  power  ascribed  to  her.  And  then, 
with  a  quick  revulsion  of  feeling,  and  an  anxious  little 
pucker  between  her  eyes: 

"  Do  you  quite  like  it,  John  ?  Do  you  like  to  have  people 
saying  these  things?" 

"Why  not?"  asked  John  evasively.  "I  hear  that 
Calhoun  himself  attributes  all  his  trouble  with  the  admin 
istration  to  you,  and  that  he  said  the  other  day  if  Van 
Buren  should  be  our  next  President,  it  would  be  all 


400  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Kitty  McCabe's  doings.  He  has  no  business  to  be 
calling  you  Kitty  McCabe,  but  I  rather  thmk  he  was 
right  in  the  rest  of  his  speech." 

Kitty  tried  to  smile,  as  she  knew  he  expected  her  to, 
but  she  was  thinking  some  rather  sober  thoughts. 

"I  am  afraid,  Kitty,  you  would  n't  like  losing  all  this 
power,"  said  John,  a  little  anxiously.  "You  know, 
they  call  you  now,  jokingly,  'The  first  lady  of  the  land.' 
You  would  n't  like  going  down  to  Tennessee  and  living 
on  a  plantation  all  alone  with  me,  going  to  no  more 
balls  and  dinners." 

"How  do  you  know,  sir?"  said  Kitty,  looking  up  at 
him  with  eyes  that  said  she  would  like  to  go  anywhere 
in  the  world  with  him.  "Just  try  me  and  see." 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  have  to,  Kitty.  The  Cabinet 's 
dissolved,"  John  blurted  out,  seeing  that  he  was  never 
coming  to  the  point. 

"The  Cabinet  dissolved?"  said  Kitty,  bewildered. 
"What's  that?" 

"I  don't  wonder  you  don't  know  what  it  means," 
explained  John.  "It  is  a  very  serious  step,  indeed,  and 
has  never  before  been  found  necessary  in  the  history  of 
the  country.  It  seems  to  be  the  only  way  to  get  rid  of 
the  obnoxious  three  and  restore  harmony,  and  so  I  have 
sent  in  my  resignation,  the  Postmaster  General  is  to 
remain  but  Van  Buren  is  going  to  send  his,  and  the  other 
three  will  be  compelled  to,  for  very  shame.  I  am  no  longer 
Secretary  of  War,  Kitty,  and  you  are  only  plain  Mistress 
Morland." 

Kitty  received  this  startling  announcement  with  a 
moment  of  absolute  silence,  and  John  regarded  her 
anxiously. 


JOHN  MORLAND  401 

"Do  you  care  so  much,  Kitty?"  he  asked,  tenderly. 

She  looked  up  at  last,  and  John  was  appalled  at  the 
change  that  had  come  so  swiftly.  Her  face  was  white  and 
drawn,  and  her  eyes  were  anguish-stricken  —  the  eyes 
of  some  tender  creature  that  has  received  a  mortal  hurt. 

"Oh,  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it!"  she  moaned.  "I  knew 
1  never  ought  to  marry  you!  I  knew  I  would  ruin  your 
life !  Now  it 's  all  over  —  your  career  is  at  an  end, 
and  it's  all  my  doing!" 

"Why,  Kitty!"  exclaimed  John,  astounded  that  she 
should  take  it  in  that  way,  and  almost  crushing  her  in 
his  strong  arms  with  the  vehemence  of  his  remonstrances, 
"  I  always  knew  you  were  a  little  goose  —  very  dear, 
and  very  sweet,  but  still  a  little  goose,  you  know. 
Career!  The  career  of  a  Southern  planter  is  the  one  I 
like  the  best,  but  I  '11  go  back  to  the  Senate  and  be  Presi 
dent,  perhaps,  before  you  know  it." 

But  Kitty  was  not  to  be  laughed  out  of  her  remorse 
and  woe,  and  John  said  at  last,  fervently: 

"Kitty,  is  it  only  for  me  you  are  grieving?  Don't 
you  know  that  if  I  never  saw  Washington  again  —  if 
I  were  set  adrift,  penniless,  to  earn  your  bread  by  the  toil 
of  my  hands  and  the  sweat  of  my  brow,  I  would  still  be, 
except  for  the  way  it  affected  you,  the  happiest  man  in 
the  world  since,  at  last,  I  know  you  love  me?" 

There  was  no  chance  for  Kitty  to  reply,  for  at  that 
moment  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door.  Kitty  sprang 
guiltily  away  from  John,  but  he  held  her  fast,  and  she 
rather  liked  his  masterful  way. 

"It 's  only  Jeff,  Kitty;  I  know  his  knock,  and  he  '11 
have  to  get  used  to  it;  he  may  as  well  begin  right  away. 
Come  in,  Jeff." 


402  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

Certainly  it  was  a  very  astonishing  picture  that  met 
Jeff's  eyes  as  he  opened  the  door,  for,  with  the  astute 
ness  of  the  Southern  slave,  he  had  known  very  well  the 
formal  relations  existing  between  his  master  and  "Miss 
Kitty,"  as  he  still  called  her;  but  no  trained  English 
servant's  face  could  have  been  more  impassive  than 
Jeff's  black  one  as  he  came  forward  and  handed  John 
a  formidable-looking  packet.  John  recognized  at  once 
the  executive  seals;  Jackson's  reply  to  his  letter  of  resig 
nation,  no  doubt,  and  he  congratulated  himself  that  he 
had  told  Kitty  before  its  arrival,  as  he  was  very  sure,  in 
her  new,  wifely  character,  she  would  expect  to  know  its 
contents;  and  the  explanation  might  have  been  awkward. 

"What  is  it?  Why  don't  you  open  it?"  Kitty  de 
manded,  as  Jeff  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  John 
showed  no  signs  of  interest  in  his  interesting-looking 
packet. 

"Only  a  reply  to  my  letter  of  resignation,"  said  John, 
"but  I  '11  open  it,  if  you  like." 

"Of  course  I  like;  perhaps  he  won't  accept  it,"  said 
Kitty,  hopefully. 

"Oh,  don't  be  building  any  false  hopes  of  that  kind, 
little  Kitty,"  said  John.  "Jackson  and  Van  Buren  and 
I  planned  it  together." 

He  was  opening  the  packet  as  he  spoke,  and  his  face 
showed  such  swift  amazement,  such  bewilderment, 
slowly  brightening  to  pleased  comprehension,  that  Kitty 
was  beside  herself  with  curiosity. 

"Oh,  John,  John!"  she  fairly  shook  him  in  her  im 
patience,  "don't  keep  me  on  tenterhooks!  What  can 
it  be?" 

"Kitty,"  said  John,  rousing  himself  slowly  from  his 


JOHN  MORLAND  403 

stupor  and  speaking  almost  solemnly,  "it  is  my  com 
mission  as  Minister  to  the  court  of  Spain!" 

Kitty  was  awestruck,  too,  for  a  moment,  but  only 
for  a  moment.  Then  she  burst  into  a  rapture  of  delight 
in  her  old,  child-like  fashion,  and  all  trace  of  the  woe 
begone  Kitty  was  lost  in  this  radiant  creature. 

"Oh,  John,  John!  Minister  to  Spain!  Ambassadress 
to  Madrid !  That 's  a  thousand  times  better  than  being 
Mrs.  Secretary  of  War.  Oh,  I  never  thought  I  would 
see  Europe!  We  '11  go  to  England  and  visit  mother's 
family;  and  we  '11  go  to  Paris,  John,  and  buy  such 
clothes!" 

She  sprang  up  and  ran  to  the  centre  of  the  room. 

"See  me  make  my  curtsey,  John,  when  I  'm  pre 
sented  at  court.  Are  n't  you  glad  I  was  taught  it  so  well 
at  dancing-school?" 

And  she  took  hold  of  her  gown  and  made  a  low  and 
sweeping  curtsey,  every  movement  stately  as  a  queen's. 

"Did  I  do  it  well,  John?"  But  she  gave  John  no 
chance  to  answer  one  of  her  questions. 

"And  I  'm  so  glad  I  studied  Spanish  at  Miss  English's 
school;  now  I  can  talk  to  the  dons.  It  must  have  been 
fore-ordained." 

"Do  you  speak  Spanish?"  John  managed  to  inter 
polate  his  surprised  question;  he  was  always  discovering 
some  new  accomplishment  of  Kitty's.  "I  know  you 
chatter  French  like  a  magpie,  but  I  did  n't  know  you 
knew  Spanish." 

"Oh,  not  quite  so  well  as  I  do  French,"  said  Kitty, 
loftily,  "  but  well  enough  to  make  those  handsome  Span 
iards  think  my  foreign  accent  is  adorable.  And,  oh, 
John ! "  —  and  here  Kitty,  who  had  been  pirouetting 


404  THE  PATIENCE  OF 

about  the  room  in  her  excitement,  stopped  and  looked 
down  at  John  still  sitting  on  the  davenport,  her  hand 
clasped  tragically  on  her  breast  — "  they  will  know 
nothing  about  those  horrid  stories  and  I  can  begin  all 
over  again!  And  nobody  will  dare  treat  the  wife  of  the 
United  States  Minister  as  they  have  treated  me  here!" 

Kitty's  chin  was  quivering  and  John's  eyes  were  misty. 
Kitty  indifferent!  Kitty  too  insensible  as  he  had  some 
times  irritably  thought!  How  she  must  have  suffered! 
But  while  John,  in  his  slow  fashion,  was  thinking  these 
thoughts  and  getting  ready  to  speak  comforting  words, 
Kitty  had  rushed  forward  and  thrown  herself  on  her 
knees  beside  him  and  seized  his  hand,  which  she  pas 
sionately  kissed  before  John  could  stop  her.  She  looked 
up  at  him  with  eyes  where  the  dew  had  drenched  the 
stars  —  the  eyes  of  a  madonna  or  an  angel. 

"John!  John!"  The  voice  was  low  and  rich  and 
vibrant,  it  might  have  been  the  E  string  of  a  'cello  speak 
ing.  "You  think  I  am  giddy,  and  foolish,  and  pleased 
with  the  thought  of  courts  and  Paris  and  new  gowns, 
but  what  makes  me  so  happy,  so  madly  happy,  is  the 
thought  that  I  have  n't  ruined  your  life ;  and  that  at  last 
I  am  really  married  to  the  best  and  noblest  and  grandest 
man  in  the  world!" 

They  were  so  absorbed  in  one  another  that  they  did 
not  see  the  little  figure  standing  in  the  open  doorway 
between  Kitty's  room  and  John's;  an  angel  figure,  with 
fluffs  of  golden  hair  and  with  blue  eyes  regarding  them 
wonderingly.  They  both  started  at  the  sound  of  a 
cherubic  voice: 

"I  had  a  dream  last  night.  I  dram  my  Papa  Morland 
kissed  my  mamma." 


JOHN  MORLAND  405 

"Come  here,  Janet,"  John  called,  "dreams  come 
true  sometimes."  He  waited  until  Janet  had  come 
slowly  forward,  then  he  took  Kitty's  face  between  his 
hands  and  kissed  her  —  her  lips,  her  cheeks,  her  eyes, 
her  brow.  When  he  released  her  Kitty  sprang  to  her 
feet,  all  rosy  confusion  before  her  child,  and  John  put 
his  arm  around  Janet. 

"Did  you  have  any  more  dreams,  Janet?"  he  asked, 
wondering  what  the  little  soul  behind  those  eyes  was 
thinking. 

"Yes,"  said  Janet,  gravely,  "I  dram  about  the 
sairies"  —  Janet  had  not  yet  learned  to  manage  her 
/'s  —  "and  the  angels,  and  the  birdies,  and  God." 

"You  angel!"  Kitty  cried,  catching  Janet  in  her  arms 
and  hiding  her  blushing  face  on  the  baby's  shoulder. 

John  rose  from  the  davenport  and  stood  with  his 
arms  about  both,  his  face  as  radiant  as  Kitty's.  He  was 
facing  Kitty's  door  and  in  that  doorway  Mrs.  McCabe, 
who  had  followed  Janet  upstairs,  suddenly  appeared. 
At  the  picture  presented  to  her  she  retreated  hastily, 
but  not  before  John  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  her. 

"Come  here,  Mother,"  he  called. 

He  had  not  called  her  mother  since  the  night  of  his 
wedding;  a  feeling  that  Kitty  would  not  like  it  and  that 
he  had  no  right  to  use  the  title  had  prevented.  Mrs. 
McCabe  had  noticed  it  and  felt  it,  but  thought  she  under 
stood,  and  had  suffered  as  only  a  mother  can  suffer  in  the 
belief  that  this  marriage,  too,  from  which  she  had  hoped 
so  much,  was  proving  a  failure.  There  was  a  ring  in 
John's  voice  now  that  she  had  never  heard  before;  she 
turned  back  at  its  compelling  strain. 

"Come,  Mother,"  said  John,  joyously,  looking  over 


406    THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOHN  MORLAND 

Kitty's  head  straight  into  her  eyes  as  she  came  slowly 
toward  them.  "Kitty  and  I  are  going  to  Spain  to  take 
possession  of  our  castle  there,  and  you  shall  come  with 
us  and  stay  as  long  as  you  will  and  make  our  happiness 
full  and  brimming  over!" 

One  arm  still  encircled  Kitty  and  Janet  as  he  extended 
the  other  hand  and  drew  Mrs.  McCabe  into  the  little 
group,  and  Kitty,  rosy  and  smiling  and  tearful,  put  the 
arm  that  was  not  about  Janet  around  her  mother,  and  the 
little  family  was  complete;  for  no  one  thought  of  Tim, 
who  did  not  think  of  them. 

"Grandma,  I  dram  last  night  that  Papa  Morland 
kissed  my  mamma,  and  he  did,"  said  Janet,  gravely, 
thus  giving  her  grandmother  information  of  the  most 
wonderful  event  that  had  yet  come  into  her  baby  life. 


[THE  END] 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAC    ITY 


A     000  051  930     6 


